Angel: City of Fear
by Speedygal
Summary: Doyle didn't have much with him, even after death. If he even decided to make something else as a neat reminder of him it probably would have been gone in a night. An Irish, half-bred demon who received visions from The Powers That Be. Angel and Cordelia had made a private investigation agency thanks to him; "Angel Investigations: We help the helpless". But one night, one night...
1. City of Fear

Summary:_City of: Book 1. Doyle didn't have much with him, even after death. If he even decided to make something else as a neat reminder of him it probably would have been gone in a night. An Irish, half-bred demon who received visions from The Powers That Be. Angel and Cordelia had made a private investigation agency thanks to him; "Angel Investigations: We help the helpless". But one night, one night is what changes his fate and his path to redemption. It began with a chase. And ended in the way Doyle didn't expect...nor did Angel._

Cover by EKShortStories on Wattpad

* * *

Doyle knew deep down inside; He wouldn't be able to tell his good, vampire friend Angel his life-story. Something from his past really didn't need to be told. As Cordelia told him, "You can't always run." Without knowing he is half demon. Cordelia could have found out when she hit him with a pan in his demon form. Surprisingly it seemed to him Cordelia is a little naive. Now, here he was walking down a street carrying a bottle of wine in a bag at night.

"No visions for tonight." Doyle said, with a cheerful laugh. He is an Irish fellow who isn't ordinary; A half-bred demon that's in love with a human and befriended a vampire (with a soul) unlike many. His vampire friend is Angel, who helps the helpless. "Aw, dis is dah life!"

It seemed just a little too perfect.

"Allen Francis Doyle." An all too familiar voice came from behind him.

Doyle couldn't stop but look over his shoulder, to see an ugly demon.

"There is a bounty on you." The Demon, Dean Dexter, adds as his fists have wooden stakes.

_I am not going to stand down. I am not going to be a coward. You saved Cordelia. _

"Dats what dah other Demon said." Doyle mocks Dean, taking out a bow and a stake. "And he's dead!"

Doyle shoots his bow and stake. The stake hit Dean'S left arm by mistake. He didn't disintegrate.

"Nice try, punk." Dean grunts, taking out the stake.

Doyle rushes off, making a note to self that he should get spare stakes.

"You cannot run from me!" Dean runs after Doyle, carrying his wooden stakes, His eye are different from most people (A soulless, light gray) who would say it belongs to some kind of different person. He has a jacket on, black jeans torn at the knees, and heavy army boots aligned with knives or either stakes.

"Ya can't get in through steel doors," Doyle argues back, running towards the building where the agency is. _Please let it work. Please let this bluff work. I should make a suggestion for steel doors. _Doyle skid through a door to wherever and crashed into a cabinet.

Dean runs past the door.

"…Ow." Doyle gets up, rubbing his neck. "I should probably run in my Demon form."

Doyle dusts off his jacket, then he hears a child.

"Mommy?" The voice of a boy nearly broke his heart into pieces. "Daddy? Is that really you?"

Doyle's hands and face is dotted in spikes, changing from Caucasian to green.

"Go ta bed." Doyle tells the boy, standing in the hall.

The boy is staring at Doyle with his jaw dropped.

"..You...ou have.." The boy starts to say, stuttering.

"And don't stare at me." Doyle explains to the boy. "It's quite rude. Your mommy must have surely taught ya dis…." He lowers himself down to the level of this boy. He puts the bag aside. "Don't be scared of me. I am a good guy; not all Irish people have orange hair. Do ya have a name?"

The boy nods.

"Christopher Columbus."

Doyle laughs.

"No." Doyle taps his knee. "Ya real name."

The boy puckers.

"Not until you tell me what's wrong with mommy!" The boy tells Doyle.

Doyle sniffs, smelling blood in the apartment. It's stale blood. _Oh god. _Doyle thought, looking back to the boy, _His mother is dead. _Doyle stands completely up.

The boy takes Doyle's porcupine-like hand.

"I'm scared." The boy said. "Mommy said my first name is a longer version of Demon..." He looks up to Doyle. The eyes that a frightened child would usually have when wanting to know something came up. "Do you know what that word is?"

Doyle didn't get surprised. But The half Irish demon smiles, as they walk to The boy's room.

"Demonic." Doyle said, slightly laughing at the boy's name. "I have heard worse."

Demonic's eyes look strange, almost keen for a moment.

"What are you?"

Doyle's left hand relaxes.

"Half human, half bred demon." Doyle said in a low, rest-assured voice. "One of dah good ones...dat is."

Demonic looks at him curiously.

"There's bad demons in this world?"

Doyle shook his head.

"Some do dah possessing dat ya see on Television." Doyle said, then he adds. "I know a vampire with a soul."

Demonic stops at the third door with Doyle.

"Cool—urroouu!" Demonic howls, he lets go of Doyle's hand. He covers his mouth. "Sorry! Mommy doesn't want me to howl…"

_Half human, half werewolf, _Doyle could see a connection between him and the boy except he knew what he is and his parents had taken the time to warn him not howl._ Lucky kid._Doyle signals Demonic to step aside (Which he complies). Then Doyle refreshes himself, expecting to see a grizzly scene in the room. He opens the door.

A couple vampires were feasting off Demonic's mom's dying body on her bed.

"OH." One of them, being the third Vampire, shouts. "It's Angelus friend!"

Doyle grabs a part of a chair splitting it in half to make a sharp stake.

"It's Angel." Doyle throws a stake right at the third vampire. The third Vampire becomes dust. "Get ya facts right. If you are goin' ta kill a parent, ten at least leave dag child in a locked room." He shook his finger at the two vampires, scolding them like children. "Ya have bitten a werewolf."

The two vampires were more than pale then they had been before.

"If I see ya two again," Doyle aims his arrow at them. "I won't be hesitatin'."

The two vampires jump through the window and leave behind a dead body.

"Is Mommy okay?" Demonic asks, more than worried for his mother.

Doyle turns himself around, and then lowers himself down to Demonic.

"Do ya have a dad?"

Demonic plays with his claw-like fingers.

"I..I..I…Mommy didn't tell me." Demonic said, in a small and innocent-child like voice.

Doyle ruffles Demonic's hair.

"Go ta dah kitchen, call dah police," Doyle said. "And turn dah lights on. Ya might as well be stayin' at my place until they find ya dad."


	2. Angel, I was attacked and

The morning after the discovery of Demonic's dead mother was pretty quick. Kate identified the markings on Demonic's mother's neck as "Some Sick-o's making vampires more gross". Angel didn't bother to be there. Doyle, of course, had to be there in questioning. Demonic safely is spending time in some officer's custody.

Kate preferred to have the meeting at her desk.

"What's the mother's name?" Doyle asks first, before Kate could start.

"Cathrine D. Rainwater." Kate then covered her mouth. She looks at Doyle accusingly as if he had colon on him.

Doyle shrugs.

"Nope." Doyle said, with a laugh. "Don't have any."

"You saw the killers." Kate takes out a pen and paper. "What did they look like?"

_I didn't see their human faces, _Doyle thought, _but I can describe their hair._

"Silver, smooth hair that is not receding..." Doyle tells her to his best ability Kate slowly looks up from the paper as he went on his big smart-cookie act, "Crazy faces, big ears, and oh the second one had dumbo eyes."

Kate puts down her pen on the desk, still holding the paper.

"You didn't see their faces." Kate acknowledges, having a rage-quit.

Doyle folds his arms.

"I saw their hair." Doyle leans back in the chair.

Kate combs through her hair.

"How many were there?" Kate puts both hands on her paper.

_I killed the third one,_ Doyle reminds himself,_ and I threatened those younger boys._

"Two." Doyle then shudders. "It was the most..." As a half-demon who works for Angel Investigations...That had to be the worst. "Awful scene." Doyle shook his head, "Poor kid didn't know what was happening to his mom."

Kate raises an eyebrow, "How did you find the boy?"

"Don't call him, 'The boy'," Doyle told Kate, his eyebrows hunch together. Kate is one of those good officers who may get insensitive at times. "He has a name: Demonic. Don't treat a victim's child as 'The kid','The girl','the boy', ya lose steam at that point."

Doyle sighs.

"I was chased by...an old friend." Doyle puts his hands together, "And then I kind of barged inta the room and crashed inta a cabinet. I'm pretty sure the door slammed shut behind me. Ya can't defy high velocity and force, correct?"

Kate rubs her temples.

"Correct;" She sighs, agitated.

And then he continued.

"I got up, and then I heard him say 'Mommy? Daddy? Is that really ya?'." Doyle got pretty choked up on that part._ If his mom is a Werewolf...Big Daddy could be here._ He can feel there had to be something about Demonic's dad, asides to his mom being the Werewolf. _A father would have good intentions not to leave big momma with their child. _"He was standing in the hallway."

Kate taps her chin.

"If he knew his mom was home, why did he ask if you were his mommy?" Kate asks, raising two eyebrows.

Doyle shrugs.

"When a kid is scared…They ask for their parents." Doyle tells her, as a detective has a prostitute handcuffed to a chair. "And those handcuffs…There's a big flaw with those handcuffs; ya know that a small person can out of them?"

Kate tilts her head.

"Are you sure about not being chased for your wine?" Kate asks, a little curious on his running part.

Doyle looks at Kate, giving his 'I- am-real-sure' reaction.

"Those two guys did have angel and spider tattoos." Doyle adds, tapping the arm of the chair. "I don't forget an awful tattoo."

* * *

Visiting the police station was one of the things that Doyle's day had started out. He learned Demonic did not have many relatives around to take care of him_. _They didn't want to have a half-breed werewolf living in their house. So Doyle, true to his word, took Demonic in. However, he had to find Demonic's dad. Demonic needed his biological father the most.

"Another Demon attempted to kill you?" Angel said, not at all surprised. He has more focus on the pencil spinning on his desk (As though Angel is attempting to break some spinning record). What came with his friends Doyle and Cordelia into this great, huge agency did help Angel's cause. Angel did appreciate their work even when he didn't show it.

Doyle paces back and forth.

"Yes." Doyle said, slightly waving his right hand. "Do ya happen ta…know where kids like ta be cheered up?"

Angel's glance changes from his focused pencil spinning on the desk to Doyle.

"Doyle, you've been out there longer than I." Angel reminds him. "I have disagreements with the sun."

Doyle puts both his hands on the chair in front of Angel's desk.

"Angel, I got attacked and-" The door behind Doyle closes.

Angel saw this little boy with these particular eyes. He can smell a half breed werewolf when it came. This is one of those instances where his abilities kicked in. Being a Vampire not only means he can drink pig blood, live forever, and be unable to age physically...Angel may be one of the kind heroes out there, even to children.

"This is Demonic." Doyle finishes, tapping his fingers on the chair. "He's half Werewolf."

Demonic is twirling a small, little pen with feathers attached to its sides.

"Do you know where my Daddy is?" Demonic asks, his eyes stray from the gray pen to Angel.

"No, but mom must have been desperate for a 'original' name.' Angel said, sharing a chuckle with Doyle.

"What does original mean?" Demonic asks, curiously.

"New and different like my friend Angel here," Doyle refers to Angel.

"Besides your mom...not telling you about your dad." Angel leans forward in his chair. "Was there a name your living relatives mentioned a lot, like 'This is insertnames' kid."

Demonic twirls his pen.

"H-Killer."

Doyle has knowledge in these kind of things. Angel knew he could ask him about it.

"Doyle, what's an H-Killer?"

Doyle is almost standing there, like he remembered something.

"Doyle," Angel repeats, seeing that look in his eye.

Angel snaps his fingers.

"Ya sure about that name, Demonic?" Doyle asks Demonic, a bit concerned.

Demonic nods.

"Angel, H-Killer is..." Doyle had to stop there, figuring out how to explain this in a simple way. "That's not his dad's name. That's just the word for 'Ya are dead'-or soon ta be. It's like...Death on a waiting list."

Angel is lost.

Doyle opens the door in Angel's office.

"Cordelia, what movie did H-killer come from?"

Cordelia had been busy reading a book, but, Doyle just interrupted her.

"_The Demon Seeker_ by Harry Ellen Ford." Cordelia shouts. "You just interrupted me on the best part of this book! I have an audition to be..."

Doyle shuts the door as Cordelia continues on a rant.

"What does a movie have to do with Demonic?" Angel asks Doyle.

"Everything, Angel. Harry is the one who revealed about demons we don't know of (things even a vampire would not like)before the movie." Doyle turns his attention back to Demonic. "Ya may want to wait outside the room, Demonic."

Demonic walks out through the door, letting it close behind him.

Cordelia puts down her book, expecting Doyle to come out instead of Demonic.

"Doyle,do you realize how far I was getting into character?" Cordelia is going off. "I was this close-oh You are?..."

Demonic sniffs her.

"Demonic."

Cordelia grabs a broom, in defense.

"You can't be a demon," Cordelia said, in her own defense. _What were they thinking? _Cordelia thought,_I may have a ghost in my house. But seriously? _Cordelia aims the broom at him. "Stop sniffing me!"

Demonic stares at her.

"That's... my name," Demonic takes a step back from her. He senses something about her. _My hero likes her. _Demonic deduces from the smell._ Her house must be really clean._"Demonic. Mommy told me I'm part Werewolf."

Cordelia puts down the broom.

"Oh." Cordelia slightly laughs. "My mistake."

Demonic sits on the couch.

"So...How did she know?" Cordelia asks, a little intrigued about Demonic. "About the werewolf part."

Demonic smiles, looking up to her.

"Mommy was a werewolf." Demonic looks down to his fingers. "Last year people broke into our home. Mommy went Werewolf on them. Another came to my room...I gave that creepy one several scars on his face "

Demonic demonstrates his ability to partially become Werewolf; His fingernails become sharper, fur grew up on his arm, and his ears became the shape of wolf-pup ears.

"You look adorable in your half werewolf form." Cordelia said. "...Did you get it from your mom?"

Demonic shrugs.

"Mommy's dad said I had H-Killer's nose. I have her eyes." Demonic puts down the pen to the side. "I miss my mommy."

Cordelia hugs Demonic, feeling sorry for him.

"Thank you.." Demonic sniffles, returning to his human form.'

Cordelia broke the hug.

"What happened to your mother?" Cordelia is actually interested.

Demonic sadly looks down to his legs.

"Vampires killed her."

"Dad?"

"I never met him."

Cordelia is a little taken back, hearing Demonic's situation.

"But Doyle, he killed mommys killers!" Demonic cheerfully said, he is in the most happiest moods today. "One of Mommy's killers, I mean." Demonic shrugs. "And he threatened them too."

Cordelia is even more surprised.

"He threatened them?" Cordelia repeats, far more surprised that Doyle's backbone has become better.

Demonic nods.

"Uh huh." Demonic continues. His eyes shine the way a kid looks up to some person who did something good. "He...He is my hero."

_I wonder how Doyle found him, _Cordelia thinks.

"You are lucky he found you." Cordelia explains to him. "Even if it were a accident."

Demonic picks up his pen.

"You think so?"

Cordelia nods.

"He has visions from The Powers That Be, and I'm sure if he was told to help you," Cordelia takes a notepad and pen. She quickly draws a doodle. Then shows it to Demonic. "He'll reunite you with your dad. Doyle may not be the best person, but he does keep his word."

The doodle has two stick figures; one is a tall stick figure hugging a wolf-like short figure beside a house.

Cordelia rips the paper off, and then gives it to Demonic.

"Daddy..." Demonic looks up to Cordelia. "Thank you for the hope...Miss?"

"Cordelia."

Demonic hears his name called from Angel's office, so he got up and went back back into the room.

"Doyle, I wish you told me about this in the beginning." Angel said, in a concerned voice. He is not scared what Doyle told him.

Demonic's eyes shine.

"Finding my Daddy?" Demonic turns his attention to Angel.

Doyle gives Angel the 'please help us' look.

"No, that will be Doyle's mission." Angel tells Demonic. He shares a glance with Doyle. "You found Demonic, Doyle. You can take care of yourself. Just send me e-mails for visions that are not pertaining to your case along the way.""

_That's a good point, _Doyle thought,_ but..._

"What if there are vampires?" Doyle asks, a bit worried about it.

Angel laughs.

"You have weapons,Doyle." Angel reassures Doyle. "I trust you on this one."


	3. Finding Big Daddy

The first place to visit was not a bar, but a store. Doyle had never seen a child be shy towards people in big groups. It was unusual. I was a Third Grade teacher, before, but Demonic's people skills...His mom didn't put him in school. Doyle goes towards the desk with Demonic holding his hand.

"Is it me or..." Doyle points to himself, as he asks Demonic. "Did mom not put ya in School?"

Demonic looks at him, quite blank.

"I have no idea what School is."

This is...really sad. Doyle notes to himself. Note to self: Tell DemonicHer name is Cathrine , it's a bit too long, and she would have had her name shortened ta Cathrine Rain in the relationship bar."

"Mommys name?" Demonic asks, looking under the book. He is short enough to be poking at it. His curiously, strange eyes identify the paper to be several years old. "And what is the book for?"

Davies flips through the book.

"We're find your Daddy through your mother." Doyle reassures Demonic, "It's the Selected H-Kill book. Anyone who's been selected gets their name in it; but that is pretty rare ta find."

Demonic has a 'what?' reaction, as his face returns to human.

"Their real names are only written in the books to verify their selection." Davis said, stopping on a page. Then Davis whistles as he reads the name. "Paul Demonic Quinn."

"Yes?" Demonic said.

The two men look down to the short, young boy.

"Ya were named after your father." Doyle points out the most obvious, as Davis pulls down a leveler.

The room is changed to empty, barren walls. All that had been inside has somehow been projected away. Lights are gleaming from all four sides of the room. Demonic clings to Doyle's pant leg pretty scared.

"Wasn't the elevator a closet last time?" Doyle asks, his eyes look around the room.

Demonic looks up towards Davis.

"The closet got more visitors than we expected." Davis mumbles, in a low voice.

The Elevator came to a complete, hurling stop.

**Ding!**

The Elevator doors open automatically for the group.

"Ya gave the Batcave a facelift." Doyle takes a step out the Elevator with Demonic holding his hand. Demonic follows him out the elevator. "I like it."

Doyle looks down to Demonic.

"Demonic, ya don't have ta be scared in here." Doyle explains to him. "This is the safest place ya can ever be-besides Angel Investigations."

The demons, who seek refuge in here, drew their attention towards the three.

"...Davis," Demonic lets go of Doyle's hand, as Doyle is a bit surprised about these demons in rags and odd attires hanging around. "Ya have surprised me. No really," He points his thumbs to himself. "It is not easy to surprise me. Just ask Cordelia."

Demonic goes off and play with a few kids his age.

"You wouldn't want to hear a complicated story..." Davis gave the book to a waiting, lobby demon as they went towards an open room with fairly wide doors with sun-paneled glass frames inside. There is laughter from the children.

Doyle glares at him.

"I have seen visions upon visions," Doyle goes on, putting his hand on Davis shoulder. "Go right ahead." Doyle's eyebrows both shoot up as he said that, taking his hand off the man's shoulder.

Davis and Doyle went into the room, and then Davis closes the doors behind them.

"I found the doorway to the Demon Lezure." Davis said, turning around.

Doyle has his bow and stake out right at his face.

"Oh come on Doyle!" Davis lowers the tip down. "The Scourge wasn't part of it; at all. I promise."

Doyle puts his weapon to his side.

"Last time I heard that..." Doyle mumbles the rest off. The mention of the Scourge is involved what he has to atone for. He puts his weapon on the desk, and then sat on the edge of the desk. "Continue..." Doyle puts his hand on the weapon. "With the doorway."

Davis takes a few steps from the door.

"It started out just to help the kids." Davis shook his head. "And then the pregnant women. And then the teenagerss..." Gunn stutters. "D-d-D-Doyle."

Doyle went into his demon form.

"You should tell Cordelia about your demon side," The second man tells him. "Before it's too late."

Davis and Doyle share a 'what?' reaction.

"Wes!" Gunn exclaims. "Don't you realize what-"

"Of course I do," Wes replied. "I am only doing this for Cordelia."

Cordellia asked them?

"Call Cordellia and tell her the truth." Wes continues. "You are a noble, good half-breed demon. I know that for sure; But just..."

Gunn reads something from a book that had tumbled out with them, then a circle glows around the duo.

"This is..." Doyle takes a step backwards towards the door. "Really random; who are ya? This is too much talk for a night."

"Wesley." Wes replied, "Tell her, Doyle!"

Then they are gone in a puff of smoke.

"This is what happens," Davis puts his hands together. "Most of the time."

Doyle has his hand out.

"Poor ya."

They shook hands.

"And if you don't come back?" Davis asks, actually concerned about him and his friends.

_I wonder how they know about Cordelia._

"I will be back." Doyle confidently said, putting his weapon over his shoulder. He goes into his demon form. He holds his hand out. "Give me that phone though. Like now. The new kind of phone ya weaseled from NASA."


	4. On the way ta Demonio

Doyle found himself in a dimension between the Demon Luzure (also known as Los Demonio) and Las Angeles. _It looks just as some of my visions, _Doyle takes note. But never did Doyle picture himself to somehow land in here. This dimension is "the waiting dimension" as many prefer calling it. The faint, vivid white doorway outline is on the wall across from him.

"Great," Doyle taps his shoe. "I have to wait." He looks towards his wristwatch. Doyle frowns, and then he rubs his forehead. "Twenty minutes. That can be forever."

The white, wide doorway suddenly becomes alive with sound and hospital noises. Doyle shifts himself slightly towards the source. _Why do I have a feeling there's something I won't like..._Doyle thought, getting his 'there is trouble brewing from the doorway' instinct.

"Has she used drugs?" The nurse questions a young man in dark clothes, as she and her nurses rush in with a woman in the bed screaming.

"No." The man said, looking down to the woman with concerned eyes. That's when Doyle recognizes him as Angel. "She has never been on drugs."

That's when he recognizes the woman as Cordelia Chase.

"Cordellia!" Doyle grabs Cordelia's hand.

Cordelia stop- her eyes stuck at thin air to others-and looks at Doyle.

"I am here." Doyle squeezes her hand.

Her shaky hand touches where his cheek should be; to the people around Cordelia, it looks like she was holding her hand up perfectly.

"D..Doyle." Cordelia's tearfully said, with a shaky voice. "...I miss you."

The nurses are confused.

"Who's Doyle?" The nurse to Cordelia's left asks Angel.

Angel is dumb-struck himself.

"Cordelia, Doyle's dead." Angel is at the side of the bed, as some Nurses restrain Cordelia.

Doyle looks towards his friend, in disbelief. He lets go of Cordelia's hand.

"N..No." She shook her head, her cheeks is getting stained in tears. "He's here."

Doyle puts his hands on the rail of the hospital bed_, I hate being in this dead condition. "_Cordelia," Doyle clears his throat. "Whatever has happened to you..." He looks closer to her hand. There is a strange, odd black marking on her hand. He looks up towards Cordelia. Doyle could see strain in Cordelia's eyes.

"Doyle...what...I said about Demons," Cordelia is struggling to speak. The pain in her eyes told him that Cordelia. "I was wrong."

Cordelia grabs Doyle's hand.

"Ya...know?"

A tear goes down her cheek.

"You told me, before..." Then Cordelia screams. "AH IT HURTS!"

Cordelia tosses in the bed.

"What's wrong with ya?" Doyle asks, in a concerned-worried voice. _She looks fine,_ Doyle observes, _no injuries or illment is present on her._

Cordelia looks point-blank at Doyle.

"Your visions, Doyle!" Cordelia screams, her face is twisted in sheer horror. "You gave me them to me."

Doyle is shocked.

"My visions?" Doyle looks at the woman with dread, but then he jokingly adds. "Humans don't suit the visions quite well, sorry for that."

But whatever is happening to Cordelia suddenly made her snap.

"Before you sacrificed yourself!" Cordelia yells, as Angel is trying to help the nurses. "THEY ARE DEAD. They are dead, Angel. Doyle's here."

Cordelia tosses and turns in the bed.

"So many people need our help..." Cordelia's face is horrified and terrified of the pain from these visions.

"You need to leave us with her." The fourth Nurse guides Angel out from the room.

_I am not going to die anytime soon, _Doyle decides as his grip on the stake-arrow tightens, _Not for Cordelia._ _I can't leave her to this pain._ If he was going to die anytime soon...Doyle must tell Cordelia with telephone service for his phone. This dimension did not suit the quiteria to do the call. _I will not give her my gift. _

"But is she going to be okay?" Angel repeats, desperate for an reply. "I can't lose another friend, not again!"

Doyle lets go of her hand, stunned to hear this from Cordelia.

"I really hate waiting dimensions." Doyle presses against the wall. _This...is the worst day. _He is slowly regretting taking this trip. The door way to his left breaks through serving wind and powerful tone in the room. Then he whispers, "Thank ya." to The Powers that Be.

Doyle walks in through that doorway, as the other Cordelia screeches his name.


	5. Los Demonio

_"Los Demonio, dah city of fear," Doyle started explaining to Angel, after Demonic left. "It was going ta be called Fearengelse back in dah day, but, some demons did a little convincin' and ten it was decided to be named Los Demonio. Demonio is a spanish word for Demon. It still lives up ta it's nickname 'City of fear'."  
_

_ "The city of fear?" Angel repeated, unfamiliar to the word.  
_

_"It's basically like Los Angeles; except it is dah most dangerous, demon infested dimension of Earth than anywhere." __He chuckled. "I've been in Los Demonio. But... Tere are some people out tere who get desperate enough ta take a ride; escape."_

_ Angel's eyebrows hunched together._

_"Escape from what?" Angel moved forward in his chair._

_Doyle smiled, taking out a bumpy-ancient textured ball._

_"Anythin' ya can name." Doyle told him._

Traveling through dimensions could be a roller coaster; the traveler had at least needed to know where they were going. But there were factors that determine where the clueless traveler goes; how awake they are, hurt, thirsty, and hunger.

Even, how they feel about themselves.

Doyle looks up. "What was I thinkin'?"

_Angel tapped his chin._

_ "And you left," Angel taps a finger on the desk. He didn't need to be told by Doyle what happened there. He could make a good guess. "You made more enemies there?" _

_ Doyle nodded._

"Oh yes," Doyle combs through his hair. He walks through the dripping sewers in his demon form. Doyle recalls what he had experienced which better yet explains how he got in the sewers."How I gave her...my visions."

_Angel is not pleased by what he is told._

_ "Who is this demon...that you refer to as 'H-Killer' with a movie?" _

_Doyle puts the ball on the table._

_ "Truth ta be told; he's ugly." Doyle said straight out. "And tere's no horns dat's part of it."_

_Angel has a 'Tell me' look on him._

_"His name in English is Hendrown." Doyle played with the ball. _

_Angel could not picture a demon given a silly name._

_"Funny name for a demon," Doyle chuckled. "I heard rumors dat Lucifer mocked him for dah name. And snap," Doyle snapped his fingers. "Whatever human body Lucifer was possessin' was torn into pieces. Dat's when Lucifer coined the word we know as 'H-Killer'."_

_"Have you ever met him?" Angel asked._

_Doyle pressed the top of the ball. The Ball automatically became a rounded shoulder part that has thick skin, rough edges, and a demon quality._

_ "I didn't know who he was before," Doyle explained. "I beat him at poker."_

_Angel gestures to the part on his desk._

_ "What part is that?"_

_"It's from his shoulder; a reward." Doyle pressed the middle and it became a ball again. He was visibly disgusted by it too. "I have no idea where to ditch this."_

_ "I do." Angel said, putting a coffee cup over the ball. It bothered him to see it. "How long did it take to realize you speaking with a violent demon?"_

_Doyle laughed._

_ "After I beat him." Doyle gulped, but then he uses two fingers to make paranthese. "He said, 'All those individuals named H-killer are my marks,' but thankfully Dah Powers Dah Be sent me a vision." Perhaps that was only time he was thankful for them. "And I had a legit reason not ta accept money from him."_

_ Angel sighs._

_ "Demonic come in," Angel said in a low voice._

_Demonic came in to the room._

_"Doyle, I wish you told me about this in the beginning."_ _Angel sent Doyle a glare._

* * *

Taking an extra pair of clothes proved to be useful for Doyle. What he wore on this trip got soaked from the sewers. But the weapons that had been taken into this dimension were not harmed. Los Demonio is the darker version of Las Angelese in tone and building designs. Finding Demonic's father got on a rocky start.

"Do ya know where Paul Demonic…" Doyle opens a door, and then he saw two demons were ready to engage into a fight. There were other Demons who seem to bare the same attitude as them. "…Oops."

The Demons stare at him.

"I'm sorry for intrudin'," Doyle apologizes at first. "Do ya know anyone who used ta be named Paul Demonic Quinn around here? It's an emergency."

The demons were not willingly to reply, growl.

"I should try dah Bars." Doyle mutters, closing the door.

_Four hours back here, _Doyle thought, _and I have already gone to the wrong place. _He combs through his hair, while going down the street passing by some female demons that bore the appearances of women on the wrong side of the law. Nobody bothers to pay attention with demons on the street in this dimension. But with humans it's another story.

Little did Doyle know or sensed, Dean Dexter was hot on his trail.

**_…One hour and 43 minutes later…_**

**_ …Bar…_**

Doyle went into a bar after spending time searching for one that accepted humans and demons alike. The demon who hunted Doyle, Dean Dexter, follows him into the bar. There is a music box booming its usual tunes and lyrics. Doyle didn't know about Dean following him in because there were other demons coming in.

Doyle sat the bar, on a rounded stool with a leather pillow.

"Screaming hurts my ears; any kind such as yelling, shouting, and so on. The kind where a microphone is used." Dean goes on, brushing aside a beer. "You get what I mean?"

Doyle is uncomfortable.

"I am not dah mean one in here," Doyle sarcastically said, folding his arms on the table. He looks towards Dean. "I am looking for Paul Demonic Quinn-He goes by H-Killer around here. Ya know him?"

But someone else answered him.

"I do." A man beside Doyle said.

Doyle turns his direction towards this man.

"Demonic's dad." Doyle can see the similarities between him and Demonic. "Glad ta finally meet ya."

Paul is a bit taller than Doyle; he has brown hair, a strange marking on his cheek, and a squared face.

"What did Cathrine do now?" He rolls his eyes. "Did she show off her werewolf side to the public?"

Doyle shook his head.

"No." Doyle said, with a laugh. "I'm Doyle."

Doyle holds his hand out, as he took on his human form.

"Everyone calls me Paul." Paul shook his hand. "How did you?..."

They ended the handshake.

"Half-demon, half human with a gift." Doyle takes a drink then swallows what he drank. "And Cathrine is dead. Vampires got to her."

Paul's hands are shaking.

"…How did she go?" He trembles. "I want to know."

Doyle puts his hand on Paul's shoulder.

"She never knew." Doyle pats Paul's shoulder. "She died in her sleep. Honest ta god, her eyes were closed when I opened the door. tree of of tem were tere. I killed dah tird one. She died when dah ambulance came."

Paul slams his hand on the bar.

A rather slim, attractive female demon brings Dean away from Doyle and Paul then into the big area where demons are having their own little social groups. Some of them are planning to murder people or orchestrate kidnappings. A variety of Demons were here from different backgrounds and motives. The music going on in this room makes it a casual hang out.

There's a wide, unusually advanced television set on the wall at the far back.

"I told her to stay with her family." Paul spills it out. "But she didn't want to. Cathrine said in her letters 'Our son needs to be living in a place the entire world will become. He needs the streetsmarts' no matter what I told her. It finally got to her."

Doyle puts his hand down.

"Don't blame yerself. " Doyle told him. "It will eat ya up."

Paul takes deep breath, and then he sighs.

"How can you know?" Paul asks, his arms folded on top of another.

Doyle orders another drink.

"It nearly ate me up." Doyle puts a dollar on the bar which is taken by the bartender. "I did somethin'…Dat I should not have done. The Scourge killed…some people I knew."

Doyle gets his drink.

"How did you get over it?"

Doyle holds his drink.

"Friends," Doyle said, in his Irish voice. But then he adds. "And visions."

Doyle takes a sip from his drink, as Dean is getting closer to the duo through the crowd.

"I asked yer son his name and he replied with 'Christopher Columbus'," Doyle told him, putting down his drink.

Paul laughs.

"Funny thing about his name," Paul taps on the bar. "I wanted her to name our child 'Brom', something a bit new. But no, she wanted to use my middle name."

Doyle is amused.

"I…" Doyle is then hit with a vision.

It feels like a migraine to him but for humans it's a bit worse. His head hit through the glass sending his drink flying everywhere. He saw images; the demon from last night was there behind them, fire spreading out everywhere, Paul running out the building, and a big music box connected to Davis's phone.

"Doyle, are you okay?" Paul asks, not accustomed to seeing someone do something like that.

Doyle figured, _I see what they are telling me. _

"Ya need ta get out of here," Doyle recommends to Paul lifting his head up. "And…" Doyle looks towards the bartender who is really angry. "If I come here again for a drink; give me a hard, plastic cup."

Paul raises his eyebrows.

"How am I going to find you?"

Doyle laughs.

"Whenever there is trouble brewing with a half-demon and a vampire with a soul lingering around..." Doyle takes a napkin from a flirty couple. "Ya don't have to search for me." He pats the table his eyes search for something to write on. "Ya need to go..."

Dean is being hold up by some demons, who find his attitude not acceptable, preventing him from getting to his target.

"Buddy, fights go on at night!" A demon that bore shark facial features tells Dean. "It's morning."

Dean breaks the shark demon's neck.

Doyle wrote on a napkin (with a pen) then he hands it to Paul.

"Meet me there." Doyle said, "And I mean it. I don't want your son to grow up without a dad. I have a dad who disapproves of my human side. It's not pretty."

Paul holds the napkin.

"How can I raise a half-breed werewolf in a demon infested dimension.."

Doyle pats Paul's shoulder.

"First, ya can send him ta Demon school," Doyle takes his hand off Paul's shoulder. "Second, ya can move in with a demon friend."

Paul has a worried face.

"But I don't know how long I got." Paul puts a hand on the table. "Until he comes."

_He needs to use the time he has now, _Doyle thought, _my dad prefers having a pure-breed son not a half-demon._

"Demonic needs his dad right now." Doyle reassures him. "I am sure ya know people who can take care of yer son if...you-know-who comes."

Paul's worried face became relaxed.

"You think so?"

Doyle nods.

"As I'll ever be, " Doyle looks over his shoulder, seeing Dean throw a demon into ceiling lights dangling freely. "Go!"

The light fell with the demon and sparks from the electricity started up feeding on the liquid on the floor. Other lights followed like a domino effect while some remained attached to the ceiling just lightly swinging. Innocent, but not fight-thirsty demons scream at the chaos unfolding. The fight, blood thirsty demons in the room got really ticked at Dean.

Dean's fighting with the other demons ended up making destruction in the ar.

Paul ran out the bar through the fire exit.

** C-c-c-rash **

A blazing pillar from the ceiling fell, blocking the fire-exit.

"Doyle," Dean shouts, charging towards Doyle with a dagger in his hand. "I will kill you!"

A couple body guard demons got in Dean's way. Doyle used this to his advantage. _Oh yeah , Angel trusts me just about right in a bar. _The Irish Half-Demon skid through a clear demon free chaos zone and landed under a table. This table has a boom box playing. He watches the demons get their butt kicked.

"Better make dat call," Doyle turns on the small, blue and white phone. He puts in Cordelia's number. Then Doyle presses the 'call' button and puts the phone to his ear_. This has to work_, Doyle thought, besides_ he gave me his weakness. _"Answer…answer…"

Cordelia was currently baking some brownies in her home (with Phantom Dennis's help) using her family's special brownie ingredients. Phantom Dennis picks the phone up from the hook then floats it to Cordelia. The phone kept ringing regardless that Dennis is holding it in his invisible hand.

"Dennis, the brownies are nearly done," Cordelia said, leaning a hand on the nearby chair.

Dennis hands the phone to her.

"Hello?" Cordelia finally answers.

Doyle sighs, with relief.

"Hey Cordelia," Doyle greets her on the other end, covering his other ear ear as Dean searches for him.

Cordelia rubs her forehead.

"Doyle, I was just baking brownies!" Cordelia lashes out, pacing in front of the baking brownies. "I have to be watching the brownies right now."

Doyle looks above the table.

"Remember dat demon ya hit with a pan?" Doyle asks her, seeing dead demons around Dean.

Dean caught sight of Doyle, so Doyle ducks his head under the table.

"Losing patience!" Cordelia said on her other line. "Of course I do. He has those really red eyes like he had been crying for days with green skin as though he was getting ready to puke. A bit better than the other demons I've seen so far."

Doyle sighs, actually glad to hear his Cordelia say that.

"Dat was me." Doyle finally let it out, the next seconds matter the most to him.

Doyle unplugs the lower half of the phone then connects it to the boombox's wide computer cable opening.

"Superman does not keep secrets!" Cordelia's voice is magnified, being louder than it was supposed to be. "Good guys aren't supposed to tell **lies, **Doyle! Oh, no wonder you found the ring first!"

Dean screams, covering his earas he is backing away from the speaker.

"you u-wait how did you get into demon form and become human? Is there a fashion style for transforming?" Cordelia switched from her furious reaction to a more questionable, young woman. "Are there any auditions for playing demon to human transforming out there? DOYLE ANSWER Me!"

Doyle takes the phone out the boombox.

"Two years ago I turned," Doyle explains to her, taking the nearest unblocked exit "Most ladies' I met didn't take it well. A few dat I can recall."

"If I could slap you right now... then I would, for not telling me in the first place!" A ding is heard from Cordelia's end. "Brownies are done! Seriously Doyle, I don't need to be swayed away by a porcupine-greeny face. I would like to know…does green come in handy to hiding in a bush?"

Doyle brushes past other Demons, not bothering to look back.

Dean shakes his head.

"That little no-good half breed!" Dean sneers. His eyes show no mercy. "It isn't over."

Bottles and bottles of beer had been crushed, enough for fire to be growing up the wooden sides.

"…Sometimes." Doyle replied to her awkward question, taking a hand off his ear.

By this point Doyle was outside the bar.

**Bab-boooooooooooooooooooooooom**

The entire building explodes. Everything that had been part of the building was sent flying to any direction. Doyle happened to be far from the area that he would have been probably killed in. Cordelia heard the explosion from Doyle's side of the phone call. Whatever she was holding in the other hand was dropped.

"Doyle, what was that?" Cordelia asks, as Phantom Dennis takes out the brownies for her.

Doyle looks to the site blowing dark smoke.

"A bar exploded." Doyle said, casually. "I'm being chased by a Demon. Heck, I **need **a demon hunter to get him off—"

"Are you okay?" Cordelia interrupts him.

Doyle is startled; she worried about _him._

"Just have a scratch on my forehead, " Doyle feels his forehead, he looks down to see his fingers have blood on them. "From dah glass I broke, by a vision." He hears her laugh a little. "Just don't tell Angel about dis. I will get back in one piece."

"Doyle," Cordelia said. "What if you don't come back?"

"We face death every day, Cordelia." Doyle goes to the side of the street where Demon bystanders were not at. _I must live through this case, _Doyle thought;_ I can't leave my friends a burden that will hurt them._ "I am _not _dyin' anytime soon."

"How about you ask the question," Cordelia suggests, as Phantom Dennis is holding tea for her. She taps her fingers on the table.

There were demons putting the fire out.

"Dah-what question?" Doyle is confused what she is talking about.

Cordelia turns around taking the tea from Phantom Dennis.

"The Dating question." Cordelia takes a sip from the tea. She blows steam off the tea then puts the phone away from her ear. "Dennis, you made it too hot." Phantom Dennis has on a cape, easily showing he shrugs.

Doyle is aware Cordelia has a ghost living in her house.

"And Doyle. I am not going to say it." Cordelia adds. "You will say it. Say it right now; so I _know_ you are coming back."

Doyle chuckles.

"Oh Cordelia, I could just kiss ya right now." Doyle said, with a laugh. "Alright I'll ask: Cordelia, will ya go out with me?"

He heard a long, drawn out squeal.

"Yes!"


	6. We need a rogue demon Hunter

Doyle decided he needs a demon hunter to help him. Meeting Paul is a dangerous choice. _I do not want a client to be killed by a demon chasing me,_ Doyle thought as he took a door into a room The other demons were oblivious to his presence at the bombed scene and quickly took out bodies that survived the explosion from the bar. Doyle heard there were survivors.

So to make sure they found Dean' body; Doyle took a visit to the Autopsy (in demon form) room.

"Started with wine and nearly got blasted in ta pieces by wine," Doyle thought aloud. He shudders at what could have happened without the wine's intervention between him and Dean. _Dean does not know when to give up, _Doyle recalls as he looks under a body sheet. "Gross."

Doyle puts the sheet back over the body.

"Not him." Doyle wanted to check if Dean was among these bodies. He knew one physical feature that stood out from Dean more than his cold, hardened eyes: A bronze, rocky forehead. That bronze plate has the eye symbol at the center with a white diamond in the middle.

Doyle lifts another white sheet off a demon corpse.

"You won't find him here."

Doyle drops the sheet, and turns around, half-scared.

"Oh." Doyle takes deep breaths, seeing who startled him. "It's just ya; the medical Examiner Demon."

The Medical Demon comes forward from a door out the darkness.

"If you were looking for a demon hunter in here, which is completely obvious," The Medical Examiner bluntly points out. Doyle could tell by The Medical Examiner Demon's voice that he grew up somewhere in Britain. "Then you are completely mistaken. Those are Biker Demons on the tables."

The Medical Demon takes off plastic-surgeon gloves. He throws away the bloody surgeon gloves into a trash can.

"Oh, so that's what everyone call gang demons in this dimension." Doyle said, with a relieved laugh._ Note to self, _Doyle mentally reminds himself,_ ask this demon his name. _So many things could be rusty about this dimension for Doyle; such as terms for hunters and bike riders.

"There's a difference between Hunters and Bikers in this Dimension," The Medical Examiner demon said, and then he rhetorically asks; "But why bother explaining to a demon that sneaked into an Autopsy?"

"I did a favor," Doyle is taking napkins off his shoe. Plenty where that had come from, little bit of a mess getting in the Autopsy. "For your assistant, Ralph. I am afraid ya don't realize how difficult it is ta get a car enthusiast hooked up with a cat demon."

This didn't surprise the demon.

The Medical Examiner Demon grumbles, "No good son of trash," The Medical Examiner Demon then presses on to the biggest matter. "I may not be a Psychologist, but I sense your fear for this hunter."

Apparently this hunter Dean is not dead as a doornail, yet.

Doyle sighs, as his fear o-meter went down.

"So…who are you again?" The Medical Examiner Demon asks.

Doyle rubs the back of his spikey neck, walking back and forth.

"Doyle." Doyle said his name. "I am… Axtius kid. He got my mom pregnant, ditched her and me after finding out I was not pure Brachen demon."

The Medical Examiner Demon grabs a sharp medical tool.

"And don't think about attacking me." Doyle stopped pacing. "Mom told me his name. Don't know him personally—nor will I ever."

Doyle shook his head as he walks around the table.

The Medical Examiner Demon puts down the medical tool.

"I made a promise." Doyle carried on, edging away from a burnt arm laying out the body sheet. Doyle puts his hands on an empty table. "I intend ta see this through."

"Do you know him?" The Medical Examiner Demon is unsure whether or not Doyle could be a threat.

Doyle lifts his head up, having an eye to eye confrontation with him.

"I don't know my father personally, but, the reason why he ditched us only makes it harder to decide meeting him." Doyle finishes, taking both hands off the table. He saw the Medical Demon relax. "I have a little favor ta ask."

"Go on." The Medical Examiner demon said, believing he heard it all.

Doyle has a small laugh at how open this medical examiner is.

"Know a good demon hunter?" Doyle picks up a knife; he inspects it as though he's seeing his teeth using it as a mirror.

"What the crap are you smoking?" The Medical Examiner Demon snarls at Doyle's question, showing his sharp fangs. "You are a demon!"

Doyle puts down the knife on a nearby table.

"I don't smoke…but…." Doyle resumes his human form; his direction aimed towards The Medical Examiner Demon. "I drink plenty."

The Medical Examiner Demon staggers back.

"Y—you are a…" The Medical Examiner Demon is struggling to speak. He could not believe his eyes.

Doyle rolls his eyes.

"Ya should really listen in when I say 'Not pure Brachen Demon.'," Doyle shook his head. _Medical Examiner Demons don't pick up specific words, _Doyle thought, _funny they do the autopsy's_. It didn't make sense to him this one didn't pay attention. "Ya have a hearing problem."

He did not approve of Doyle's remark.

"Half-Breeds do not belong in here."

Doyle takes a few steps forward towards him.

"I need some help getting rid of a pesky demon." Doyle said, cracking his knuckles. "He's after me. If I do not come back, then ya will be visited by my vampire friend with a soul."

The Medical Examiner Demon scratches his long chin.

"Vampires do not scare me." The Medical Examiner Demon lies, uncovering a severely burnt body. "Nothing can."

Doyle covers his nose.

"That smells like rotten beef." Doyle's voice is muffled. "I get the point."

The Medical Examiner demon covers the body.

"Does the name Angel mean anything ta ya?" Doyle suggests, watching the Medical Examiner Demon become completely white.

The Medical Examiner Demon gulps, then he said "Fine…I'll help; but give me a reason why."

Doyle smiles at him, as color returned to the Medical Examiner Demon.

He explains the entire situation to The Medical Demon, stopping at the bar explosion

"So as ya know; Davis told me where ta find the door ta the genuine Los Angeles." Doyle rubs his hands together. "I have ta take Paul Demonic Quinn (A human, no surprise there) and reunite him with his son. Then I will leave ya be," Doyle has honesty in his eyes. "I keep my word."

The Medical Examiner Demon raises a brow.

"You must have a preference," The Medical Examiner Demon slides the corpses into a square cabinet like doors. "Everyone has a preference what kind of Demon Hunter they want to do the job. Just give me one name to narrow it down; First name, middle name, last name or any name."

_Well, the man who called himself 'Wesley' had demon wizard spells, _Doyle processes the likely candidate, _and he can stand in the sunlight. _Regardless that he did not know Wesley it seemed to be Doyle that he is the best choice. _ He is completely human; there wasn't a vampire scent on him. _

"Wesley." Doyle said, standing at the side from the tables being put away.

The Medical Examiner Demon's jaw drops.

_A name that shocks a demon_, Doyle thought, _other than Angels. That is something new._

There is a moment of silence.

"Seriously?" The Medical Examiner Demon asks, after he regained control of speaking. his face is wild in disbelief. His dark gray, scaled face became wrinkly. The crooked horn on his forehead is curved similar to an umbrella's handle.

Doyle shrugs.

"You want _a human_ to slay a demon?" The Medical Examiner Demon then laughs. "First a vampire slayer, than a vampire who slays demons, then a half-breed who works for said vampire wants a human to slay a demon!"

The Medical Examiner Demon puts on an early version of glasses, connected by the rims, reminding Doyle of a person from his literature book. Minus the forehead, crooked horn on the Medical Examiner's forehead.

"Who is this pesky demon?" The Medical Examiner Demon asks, closing the door behind him. "I must know why _you _ask me."

"Dean Dexter," Doyle takes out a photograph, and then he shows it to him. The Medical Examiner Demon made a perfect 'o' seeing it. "Ya may want ta sit down."

The Medical Examiner Demon sat in a rolling chair.

"Long before I met Angel, I went on my own ta help people from my visions." Doyle puts the photograph away. "He was causing problems for a family of five; I ended up using my computer skills ta slip them in ta witness protection—for free—.and not leave a trace."

"I see a problem with this," The Medical Examiner bursts his bubble, while tapping his long hard fingers together. "How are they still in the program…When it was only a demon terrorizing them?"

Doyle smiles.

"It wasn't a problem making it seem they had a legit reason ta be in there." Doyle explains, in a way that portrayed they are safe for a really long time. "Their youngest daughter _had_ witnessed Dean murder a high profiled smuggling cocaine ring leader. If ya want ta know how, that's a long story."

"I understand." The Medical Examiner Demon said, with a nod.

"The humans think it was one of his enemies—the ring leader man—who were looking ta cash in from his death. Besides that, I may have changed the family's records ta who they were dealing with." Doyle played with his fingers, almost shyly. He looks back to The Medical Examiner Demon. "I made a bunch of …fake problems."

The Medical Examiner is stunned.

"I didn't drink all the time ta drown out my sorrows," Doyle adds, shaking his head. "I drink ta celebrate, now."

_Last night, _Doyle thought, _getting wine was for having no visions. Good reason to celebrate!_

"You had a dramatic incident…" The Medical Examiner realizes, not asking it as a question but as a fact. "That changed the reason why you drank."

Doyle sighs.

"Believe it or not," Doyle said. "I can make enemies here….And in my dimension…With a few friends here and there."

The Medical Examiner puts his hands together.

"So the enemy part, when did it go beyond the 'I don't care about you' point?" The Medical Examiner is interested, "Was it when this dramatic incident occurred?"

"Yes." Doyle admits, taking out some candy. He takes off the wrapping and ate it.

The Medical Examiner Demon leans back in his seat.

Doyle swallows the chocolate.

"I'll give ya the short version; when I was drinking, Dean came inta my apartment at night…" Doyle throws the wrapper into a trash can. "We got on the wrong foot, one thing lead ta another…He was furious I had ruined his 'fun' with them."

Doyle's hands ball up into a fist.

"Dean was terrorizing those kids, I couldn't let it continue."

The Medical Examiner Demon rubs his chin.

"I filter out what I don't want to hear." The Medical Examiner Demon admits. "And that's what your enemy here, Dean, did."

Doyle smiles, _This Demon knows what he is talking about_, his hand relaxes losing its fist shape.

"And what do ya hear instead?" Doyle asks, in a manner that easily showed nothing can be left unexplained to him.

The Medical Examiner Demon has an 'I-wouldn't-tell-you' expression on.

"I know a rogue demon Hunter, from outside The Watcher organization thing." The Medical Examiner Demon waves a hand (but not in the air) slightly, back and forth like he had it on a table.

Doyle hands him Davis' phone.

"Tell him ta meet me here…" Doyle wrote on the back of a business card.

He hands it to the Medical Examiner Demon.

"I nearly forgot ta ask," Doyle remembers a low priority question. "What is ya name?"

The Medical Examiner Demon is surprised that Doyle bothered to ask.

"Qurden." The Medical Examiner Demon said in a low voice.

Doyle smiles at his name.

"Is that Gordon in English?" Doyle asks.

The Medical Examiner Demon shook his head.

"Garden." The Medical Examiner, Qurden, proudly said. "I was born in the back corner of the Victorian garden."

* * *

The room, where Davis and Doyle had been inside a few hours ago, is wide open. There are bodies of Demons all over the place outside the room. There are a few bodies that look as though they tried to crawl in. Glass is all over the place. Chairs,tables, and various furniture was flipped over. The technology in this room is all but broken.

It didn't appear to be an organized crime.

"I should leave a survivor for my bargin." Dean walks up to half-breed demon hanging on for dear life.

Dean picks up the Half Breed.

"I want Doyle," Dean told the Half-Breed, holding her by the neck. "Or else the kid's dead."

The Half-Breed Demon, Vew, is scared for her life.

"T-t-t-tell who?" Vew stutters, her entire body is shaking. Her blue-green face is stained from all the crying she had been doing when Dean slaughtered them all.

Dean's cold, metal eyes look through Vew.

"Angel Investigations; they have two days to hand him over." Dean drops Vew. He had the boy to get. If the Scourge wanted to interfere with Dean's mission there wouldn't be any survivors, nor would their demon-half breed bomb be left to be used again. "I want my target handed over to me by people he trusts."

Demonic is cowering under Davis's desk.

"Or else his little werewolf friend gets it." Dean goes into the room, stepping over the dead demon corpses he had made.

Vew saw the Angel Investigations card across from her; It came from Doyle before he left. She picks up the stained card. The sign of an Angel meant something else to her not just heaven but hope. The hope that usually appears in miracles, not only for mythical legends made by humans, to save lives

Barely alive, Davis is trying to hold on for Demonic

"F-f-f-fear makes him stronger," Davis said, trying his best to be reassuring for Demonic. Doyle would have wanted Demonic not to be scared in a safe place. Davis is keeping up his end o the bargain. "Don't be...afraid of a little…Irish porcupine-"

Dean slices off Davis's head with a sword, quite clean.

"Do be afraid." Davis turns over the desk. He looks down towards Demonic. "Your hero isn't coming anytime soon."

Demonic screams.

The scene switches to Vew using a phone.

"Angel Investigations; we help the helpless!" Cordelia said, in a bright mood. "What do you need help with?"

Vew clears her throat.

"The dem-de-de-dem-mon Hunter Dean Dexter has killed everyone…except me."

Cordelia lowers the phone.

"Angel, there's a demon killer case!" Cordelia called out, then puts the phone back to her ear. For all she knew Doyle was out re-uniting a man with his son.

"It's yo-y-your friend who needs the help." Vew stutters. "He wants Doyle in exchange for Demonic…In two days."


	7. An unusual

Wesley is in the suit he had died in, from going out and killing a god of magic. He had enough of this. Something had to be changed. The rest that was going to be changed is not planned. Wesley just left it for the universe to decide what may happen after this interaction. The room is large, big with the hallway glowing white. Here, he faces the two new gods who answer (In replacement for the two who had died about five years ago) questions by mortals.

"Do you realize what Angel Investigations is meant for?" Wesley asks the two gods.

The gods frown upon his comment.

"You are a spirit," The first god said. "We cannot interfere with prophecies. Los Angeles will not return to Earth in some years."'

Wesley's hands curl up into balls.

"Screw the Prophecies!" Wesley then said, his fury is bigger than a walnut. He clearly has has had enough of this. "We help the helpless. Not millions of helpless people or helpless demons; choose somebody else to clean your mess! There are people out there who would gladly do it. But Angel Investigations.."

The two gods were not impressed by his lash.

"We have been doing nothing but participating in a war against wolfman&Hart." Wesley shook a finger. "We are supposed to be helping the helpless; A castophy could be a reasonable atonement but it has gone too far. Too far...true that Cordelia's a genuine higher power, I am dead, and Angel is out there cleaning up your rotten mess, Lorne is keeping reality in balance...And you know what I am doing?"

The second god huffs.

"Appealing to us."

Wesley laughs.

"'No." Wesley said. "Guess again."

A third god came running down the hallway shouting, "The Scourge event is being changed!"

The two gods faced Wesley.

"I'm sending my memories to my past.." Wesley said, in a cryptic way. He rus his knuckles making them crack as well. ".And..That half-werewolf kid; Demonic...Doyle's old enemy named Dean Dexter now can chase him."

The god's jaw drops.

"What the hell did you do?" The first god furiously asks. "You have no idea what measures have been broken!"

The scene briefly shows the crew, before the suicide mission, doing a demon spell.

_ "Are you sure about this, Wes?" Gunn asks, a little unsure about this spell._

_Wesley looks over his shoulder._

_ "This will protect us until they take off the gloves." Wesley said, returning to the spell._

_ It was hope they could only rely on at best._

_ "What gloves?" Lorne is more surprised about the mention of gloves than anyone. "I would like to know where they got all-mighty-protected gloves from."_

_ Spike drops in a dragon claw._

_ "Probably from the bloody wizard store," Spike said, then adds. "Always hated that shop."_

"I lied; For their own good." Wesley explains. "By letting Doyle live; All these prophecies are gone. Kaput. I did always want to meet this irish fellow in person. Looks like I will meet him after all."

The first god summons a power in his hand.

"A Rogue Demon Hunter, once a watcher, has now defied what we have been foretold to happen?"

Wesley smiles.

"Not a rogue demon hunter, you are mistaken." Wesley corrects him. "I am a wizard."

The gods grew mad at him.

"Oh, about time I go." Wesley is fading. "Try shooting at me. You...big...high cowards!"

The two gods shot at the transparent ghost...but they missed their target.


	8. A new contact ta help

** ...Wesley's room..**

** ...7:43 AM...**

Recently being fired by the Great Council (Or better way to say as in, quit) wasn't the best event in Wesley's life...Besides trying to bring back an undead animal as a child. And trying to impress his father. But; going out as a rogue demon hunter who didn't actually have experience in the field was possibly a great opportunity. Or it just made his situation in demon hunting a tad bit worse.

Wesley has been having these unusual dreams (that felt like years went by) for the past month.

But this one...it felt like months had went.

"No!" Wesley woke up, rushing forwards from his bed with sweat.

"_Fight the good fight, right?"_

Wesley is sweating, breathing in and out.

_"No, please, Doyle!"_

Wesley gets out of bed, then takes out a book from a drawer and flips to a page.

"Much ado…**" **Wesley read a passage. He turns on a lamp. His eyes light up in a magical way reading a line. He gets a pen and drawing pad from a desk drawer (Which is part of a hotel room) then closed the drawer.

He takes all three objects from the bed to the desk.

"I knew practicing Art would come in handy." Wesley sat in the chair in the front of the desk.

Wesley's attention returns to the book.

His eyes light up at a line.

"Wait…what. Did I just read this right?" Wesley follows the paragraph lines. "To change what has been foretold...And lead a different, but a better outcome."

Wesley sketches what he had seen in this dream on white paper; one of a kind dreams that started in a dark room with Angel and ended on a bright, square box. Anyway, when Wesley finished the drawing it ended up like this: There was a man standing a few feet from the box. Wesley taps the pen on the drawing making small, rounded dark dots.

_He must be Doyle, _Wesley makes a lucky guess_,It feels...like she loves him._

There is a demon in this sketch near Cordelia keeping her from going after this man_._

Wesley scratches his chin.

A part of Wesley, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, could feel this demon wasn't supposed to be there.

"This does not feel right." Wesley comments,as he leans back in the chair.

Then the other dreams he had been having for the past week finally made sense; He saw what his future would be…Becoming a powerful wizard who fell in love with a really, smart woman (Not Cordelia) and died with a god copying the woman's appearance. Wesley rubs his cheek. It didn't seem to be the ideal things to be part of a contract for an evil corporation that had his undead soul do some…things.

"Not worth it." Wesley looks back to the drawing.

Surprisingly, Wesley found himself eager to meet Doyle (Who he had seen morph into a demon) in person.

"I will be there." Wesley decided, doing something his father never would have done. He would at least make somebody proud of him. "And I won't be hunting demons for the rest of my life."

** ….1:38 PM….**

** …Inside an Alley…**

Wesley ducks a punch from a demon. Then he shoots at it this violent demon sprouting fire and shaking his wide trumpet shaped horns from side to side. There are people in this world who are not capable to notice what is happening in the dark. Noises mostly make people ignore what is going on in the unimaginable places. Wesley is more like the shadow that most citizens do not bother noticing, such as Demons and supernatural things

Wesley had to be careful taking him down.

"Horns are the most vulnerable part…" Wesley reminds himself, taking out the blade.

The Vlarenoha Demon, this demon who had been causing quite the disturbence recently, paws at the floor.

**Ring Rin Ring**

"Die demon hunter!" The Demon yells, his trumpet-horns blew flames at Welsey.

Wesley cuts off the Demon's left arm.

"Uh no." Wesley takes his ringing phone out and flips it open. He clicks on the green banana button. Then he puts it to his ear."You better have a good reason to call me," The demon staggers back. "I just cut off the wrong part from a nasty demon!"

"Hello, Wesley." Qurden greets him, in the most calm but collective manner. "I have a friend who can use your expertise."

Wesley ducks a punch.

"Get on with it." Wesley cuts off a horn from the Demon's forehead.

The demon screeches.

"Doyle." Qurden said.

The Demon knocks down Wesley_._

"And you are hunting down a demon; maybe I should call somebody else." Qurden said, with a short laugh.

Wesley gets back up then threw his own shoe at The Vlarenoha Demon.

"No way!" Wesley still has a grip on the phone. "What kind of trouble has he gone into?"

"He's being chased by Dean Dexter." That name rang a bell in Wesley's head; Dean Dexter is at least 270 years old, at least old by Vampire standereds. Dean Dexter is not quite dangerous as Angelus (Angel) had been but was an fighter who loved to torture like Spike. "He needs Dean slayed in order to reunite this kid and his dad."

The Vlarenoha Demon is more than furious blowing steam here and there.

"Where do I meet him?" Wesley asks, ducking a fire blast from his opponnet.

Qurden isn't slightly amazed by his question.

"Outside a building in our world; the Station." Qurden said, tapping his long reptile claws on a body table. He takes out a long, sharp medical tool then digs it into some part of a demon (Matter of death is unknown), using a little rounded mirror as guidence.

Qurden's put in a toothpick and began chewing on it.

"You will pay dearly for this!" The demon snorts, struggling to stand still. He is gradually going into a unbalance state and be unable to blow off fire from losing a lot of Demon blood.

Wesley shoots an arrow that hits The Vlarenoha Demon's left ankle.

"Could I get any other specifics from Doyle?" Wesley asks, loading up his weapon again.

Qurden flips over a skin to see the demon body (he's operating on) had his windpipe crushed. But that didn't kill this demon on the table.

"Welesy," Qurden starts, in his most 'acceptable' tone of voice. _This kid does not give up._ This way he doesn't like a principal giving a world of a lecture to Wesley.

Wesley takes out a small, but intact, wizard book from his pocket. The Vlarenoha Demon struggles to stand upright, feeling a bit woozy. Almost as though life is draining from it's body the war hog-hunchback demon tips back. Landing squarely on his really uneven backside. Wesley sighs, relieved to have this one finally down.

"Don't use the book." Qurden finishes, knowing Wesley a bit too well.

Wesley laughs, putting a crate over the demon's body.

"You are more wrong than ever right now." Wesley tells him, very deceivingly. "'I am going to take the doorway at 221B Baker's street."

Qurden takes off his glasses.

_This kid is predictable_,Qurde breaths on the glasses, _lying is not useful._

"There is no doorway there," Qurden reminds Wesley, knowing a few doorways himself. He wipes the glasses clean. And then Qurden puts them back on. "You big liar."

Garden learned about Wesley from a few friends in Sunnydale (Who Wesley miserably failed at killing) before meeting him.

"So is Doyle there?"

Qurden rolls his tongue.

"No." Qurden sarcastically replied. "He's out in the middle of no where getting a ruddy sun tan!"

Wesley puts a blanket over the crate.

"I'll see you there;" Wesley said, then he laughs knowing which demension he'll probably be coming to. "But where's Doyle at, again?"

"He's waiting for you at the Station."

"Which is where again?..."

Qurden groans, lying his head on a curshion attached to the rolling chair.

"...Wes, it's right outside our very own Walmart in front that's always a 'sunny' beach." Qurden raises his voice. The phone on Wesley's end abruptly screeches puts the phone away from both ears slightly annoyed by this reception. It read 'line has been disconnected' on the mainscreen in blue.

Qurden shook his head, clicking the 'Okay' option.

"That Wesley is a big idiot." Qurden tosses the phone once, catching it on his first try. "Humans are far more fascinating than Demons. I'll hand that to them."

* * *

Angel walks through the underground tunnels, carrying what apparently is bucket towards a couple of tied up demon goods. One demon has a face similar to a starfish-catfish bred together, meaning this is a Graven Demon, the kind that is sly and sneaky but has some whiskers that aid in searching. However that has been debunked by Angel. A fraud can get 'D.B.' meaning Debunked or do some Sweevil (Sweet evil) to their debunkers.

"What the-"

Angel puts down a stool.

"Oh my Sea Anemome!" The Graven demon shrieks. "It's Angelus!"

Angel kicks over a tin can that draws a thin, white thread against the graven demon's neck.

"It's Angel." Angel corrects them, his accent from Ireland had faded away quite a deal. "I know that you have a connection to Dean Dexter."

The wide awake, clearly scared Graven gawks at him.

"W...Which..Which Dexter?" The Graven assks, earning a stare from the vampire. "There's two. One, the cartoon. Second, I've heard there's been a pilot concept about this murderer named Dexter who kills deh worst killers."

Angel gets up from his seat.

"The demon hunter," Angel said. "I am not giving up my friend. if Dean wanted a exchange, He should have given us a location to meet him."

The Graven spat at him.

"Why would I?" The Graven said, in utter disgust of Angel.

Angel delivers a hard punch to The Graven's jaw.

"You don't have to look far," Dean's voice comes from behind Angel. "I am already here. I don't see the irish demon.""

The Graven smiles, as blood is seen coming from the corners of his mouth.

"No way in helll I am giving Doyle!" Angel said, turning around towards his direction. His hands are in fists.

Dean has sly grin.

"Didn't you say 'There's nobody left I care about'?" Dean points out. He knew Angel from different sources, but the most notable one stung an image of Angel without back up and a single-handed Vampire with a soul going after the evil: To help the helpless.

Ange's face changes into his vampire face.

"Doyle'is an exception, he's my friend."

Dean drops his weapons.

"Face me like you mean those words," Dean taunts him. _Doyle has gotten some beef to protect him, let's see how he fares against me, _pointing a finger at the vampire, _And he is my target. I will get_ _a lot of cash from taking down Doyle_. And that he had some unfinished business with Doyle. "For his life. If I win, I take him down. If you win..."

"Doyle will get rid of you," Angel said, "I've seen him get rid of much terrible demons than you. Enough chat!"

Graven watches Angel get into a fight with Dean.

* * *

Paul assumed it was safe to go meet Doyle at The Station where a doorway to Los Angeles is hidden. Only problem is he didn't know if his son,Demonic, would be mad at him for leaving him and his mother. Paul takes another a drink from his bottle, leaning against the wall. _How come Doyle's late?_ Paul paces in the hall many times not patiant to wait for hours. The floor has gotten worse marks on it than his big, rough shoes.

"Tom!" A scottish voice caught him off gaurd. "I am warning ye not tae invade an old hoose. Ye know how supiticous thay are."

Paul hid behind a tall couch (About 7 feet tall) when a furry-rocky looking Demon (Probably Tom) came by.

Paul never, ever felt this scared since he got the last baby tooth removed!

"I don't smell humans here," The furry-Rocky demon said, sniffing. "But I do smell dinner outside."

"Seriously Tom?" The Demon's unseen friend asks. Paul didn't see his friend. But what he could tell is this friend had a scottish accent. "Stop exaggerating about dinner, Ma stomach's growling. We shuild geit going before thay come."

Tom turns away from the couch, grumbling.

"I hate it when you do that, Edwarn." Tom yells back, halfway out the building.

_ That's a weird name..._

"I hate it when ye bring in these unwanted chicks into the hoose!" Edwarn replied, his foot is heard outside the door tapping on the floor.

Paul sighs, relieved the Demon's leave.

"I had not ever believed hearing Scottish would send chills up my spine." Paul gasps. "But now I do."

A figure came from out of nowhere.

"Ah really?"

Doyle is leaning on the side of a doorway, when Paul finally noticed.

"Jeeze!" Paul nearly shouts, hitting his head on the wall. "You just scared me, Irish demon!"

Doyle has a smile on him, like he has heard this more than once.

"It doesn't get old." Doyle has a small laugh, shaking his head. His hands were both in his jean pockets. "For me."


	9. So much for running

Doyle looks down to his watch, waiting for the rogue Demon hunter to be arriving. The time is 2:34 PM. The Station is a hard location to think targets will hide in. Many years ago this gray, vast deserted building used to be a Demon Police department. This so called Demon Police Department was set up to take care of business that didn't involve solving demon crimes, but dealing with forces not all demons wanted hanging around their turfs.

"Ya know," Doyle starts, patting the side of the wall. "This building used ta be the prime example what all demon police departments should be built like."

Paul rolls his right eye.

"So much for it bearing idolized." Paul grumbled, saying a word that catches Doyle's attention.

_Has Paul been around Teenage Demons?,_Doyle thought as he is caught by surprise_, I must be a little too suspicous...Only one way to find out._

Eventually, a new demon police department was built after a big scuffle tarnished the deserted Police department's image. Everyone was transferred into the new building. Some demons say this scuffle was a gun shooting, wild and all more insane than Mexican drug-dealing cartel doing its business. A few demons say after the scuffle that demons (Or whoever) who fell in this event were destined to haunt the place.

"So... do you know this rogue demon hunter?" Paul asks Doyle.

Doyle shrugs.

"Not really." Doyle said, taking both hands out his pockets. He shrugs. "The thing is, we technically may have not met...face ta face."

Paul glares at him.

"Spirit or advanced technology?"

Doyle laughs, leaning his back on the side of the wall.

"No,no, no," Doyle waves his right hand back and forth.

Doyle explains to Paul how they met, in the most simple and probably logical way. Paul's jaw gradually drops as Doyle went on, the expression in his face is clearly a 'Say what'. Doyle went as far adding the experience in the Waiting Dimension. This made the greatest, logical assumption: This other Wesley came from a possible future.

When Doyle finished this comparison...Paul did not have a word to say.

Paul's eyebrows arched together similar to a hook keeping a worm on a fishing rod.

"Some of my Third Grader's had grandparents, who were Science Fiction Whiz's." Doyle said, with a whistle. He shook his head, smiling at some memorable event in his mind. He looks straight towards Paul. "I did not have a clue about Time-Travel until then."

"Oooh." Paul said, rubbing his knuckles. "I understand this...somewhat."

From the side there's an rounded white surface glowing across from Doyle and Paul on the floor.

"I have no idea what this is." Doyle shields his eyes.

Paul recognizes it.

"An Amateur doorway." Paul's eyes flash orange fo a few seconds then dye down to their original color. He takes a step away. "It is about to become messy."

The light from this growing portal burnt a part of Paul's shoe (Amateur doorways usually don't do that) and smoke drifted out of it.

Doyle morphs into his demon form.

"Humans do not fear light." Doyle makes a point. "And I know amateur doorways do not cause harm...Unless a copycat Demon stands near it!"

Doyle shot the stake into the Copy-Cat Paul.

"You cheater!" The copy cat demon assumes his original form. The Copy cat Demon is somewhat alien like; Cat features on his head (No cat ears), small eyes, brown dots under the eyes, tan skin, markings on the side of his fore-arms that can be mistaken for tattoo designs, gray jeans that stop at the shoes, no tail, but there are sharp disks poking out from his back, and his big toe is poking from his shoe.

The copy cat, otherwise known as Hyle, yanks the stake out his shoulder

"Where is Paul?" Doyle asks, with his loaded stake-bow.

Hyle drops the stake.

"I ain't a security alarm, just a copyer!" Hyle snaps. "I just copied him."

Doyle didn't approve of this.

"Ya know more than ya letting on." Doyle puts the bow and stake down.

Doyle grabs Hyle and puts him against the wall using his superhuman strength.

"Brachen Demons cannot do that!" Hyle squirms, frightened and startled at once. If people could say being startled and scared is impossible then just try jumping out the dark on an innocent bystander. "I know my sources!"

The white, sphere on the floor became a white clynider.

"Those sources are wrong." Doyle said, tightening his grip. "Tell mem before I stab ya'ar heart and let ya become dust."

Hyle fears Doyle and saw him as a Brachen Demon to reckon.

"That's a myth!"

Doyle raises an eyebrow.

"Copy Cat Demons are related to Vampires, correct?"

"No."

"Eh, wrong."

Hyle's eyes flashed.

"Turns out, ya'ar related to Vampires pretty loosely. Remember that legend where a vampire was granted a species-change?" Doyle watches a blank reaction come from Hyle. "I suppose not. The first Copy Cat Demon, Elexander, was left with two ways of death; one is sunlight and the second is stake ta the heart."

Doyle has a stake in his left hand.

"F-f-f-f-fine!" Hyle sputters,as the light died down and left Wesley in place. "He told me to be here for some man. He-h-h-ehee claimed something's up." Wesley is standing there still, now seeing what a Brachen demon is capable of. Well...a half breed to be precise.

_Not the best highlight of my day ,_ Doyle thought, _Getting tricked by a copy cat demon.. _

"He-h-h-e can't come to Los Angelese. Some-some-thing is brewing back there; even a human in our world can sense this, bearing near a doorway and all." Hyle gulps, using a world people would be confused on. Bearing is a word that most demons use if they didn't have knowledge in English writing-mostly used by Demon teenagers.

""I us-s-suspose y-y-u-you know why." Hyle adds.

Doyle's spikey hand makes small circle marks in Hyle's neck.

"Where." Doyle repeats, and then he acknowledges the obvious. "I need ta know where he is. And that problem will be taken care of, Ya see the human behind me? He's an expert Rogue demon hunter...Right?"

Wesley stammers, attempting to decide whether to lie or not.

"Yes." Wesley lied, coming forwards from the burning floor. He comes beside Doyle. "And don't Copy Cat Demons really hate Garlic?"

Hyle's eyes widen.

"It does make Vampires cry." Doyle agrees. He turns his direction towards Wesley. "Do ya also know what makes a distinctive marking on..."

Hyle squirms in Doyle's grasp.

"I do not want to puke!" Hyle yells, kicking his legs. "Some-one get these manaics aw-hay from me! Uranus! Uranus! Uranus!"

Wesley looks at the boy, strangely.

"Aw-hay?" Wesley couldn't believe what Hyle just said. It sounded like somebody trying to do a southern accent while doing a really bad impression doing it.

"That's the typical steroteropical Demon Teenager." Doyle said, as though it was a usual event. Hyle grunts at Wesley wanting to either kick his butt after getting out Doyle's grasp and doing the same to him. "What else makes Copy Cat Demons puke?"

Anyone can tell Wesley is recalling a moment when he learned about the demon copycat puking

"Paddle ball." Wesley said, catching Hyle off gaurd.

For all Hyle knew, Wesley could be a exaggerated human who is not up to date with demon speaking.

"I will tell you the truth!" Hyle finally gave up.

Doyle lets the boy go.

"He's...staying...out..in..the Baskel Lobby Hotel." Hyle covers a part of his bleeding neck. He glares at Doyle. "I...really...hate Brachens."

Doyle pats Hyle's shoulders.

"Ya will hate the scourge, too, or later; some of them are Brachens." Doyle said, giving him the most useful knowledge a copy-cat demon can ever get. "Now scram before I let this demon hunter kill ya."

Wesley lets his stake be seen, by pulling back a part of his peach jacket.

Hyle runs away from the duo.

Doyle morphs into his human form.

"Were you a teacher for High school?" Wesley asks, a little curious to know._ He could be a teacher for a high school,_ Wesley thought. _High School's over._

Doyle shrugs.

"I taught third graders." Doyle said, with a chuckle. "Does lying come with being a Demon Hunter? I haven't seen one lie this much in over...two years!"

Wesley sheepishly smiles.

"I've done it once or twice," Wesley puts his wizard book away. "Some of it is not admirable." He reaches his hand out. "I am Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Everyone calls me-"

"Wesley, I know." Doyle interrupts him, shaking Wesley's hand. "Doyle, just Doyle."

Wesley raises a brow

"Glad to meet you _in person_, Doyle." Wesley said, ending the hand shake. His eyebrow settles down.

Doyle looks at him strangely.

"In person?..." Doyle then gets confused. He looks over his shoulder. Then Doyle turns his head towards Wesley and folds both his arms. "Please, tell me ya are not a friend of some Psychic eye surgeon."

Wesley shook his head, with a laugh.

"No," Wesley assures him. "I am not."

Wesley explains to Doyle these dreams he's been having (except for the part where Cordelia is being held back by Dean at the end of his latest dream).Doyle finds him to be a lucky man to have painless dreams. Wesley stopped explaining how he knew by the Buffy incident. Yet, Wesley didn't tell the dreams involving the future without Doyle.

"So other than that," Wesley said, sliding his hands in front himself as though he is smoothing out a bed sheet. "I have no idea why you made enemy out of a 270 year old Killanobi demon; He's not as dangerous as Angel. But Torture is...That is his hobby."

Doyle rubs the back of his neck.

"Heh," Doyle said, but the word 'Killanobi' didn't ring a bell. He stops rubbing his neck and directs his attention to Wesley. "What is...a Killanobi?"

"Doyle, he's never been killed before." Wesley warns him. "If he did come from a place such as Normandy where everything is recorded then we would have known. Unfortunately he comes from Africa; Scotland Yard had some records that had date when he arrived in London and where he came from."

Doyle rubs his temples.

"That is awful." Doyle said, as there are a group of greedy demons coming down the hall towards where the duo.

A axe struck through the wall across from the men.

"I told you they were here!" Hyle shouts, pointing at their direction.

* * *

Wesley and Doyle escaped from the old building by using a secret passage-way that had been under the axe. Wesley insisted on bringing the axe. Doyle had this strange feeling that something is not right as he took his stake and bow (This did not come with a vision).While going through this passageway Wesley suggested they go to Qurden's house. Qurden's house has many things demons consider not to have.

Qurden's house is better than getting killed.

"How come ya know where ta Qurden's house when ya can't find the right grocery store?" Doyle asks, as they are standing at the front door of Qurden's house. "And if ya have been here before, I would have known."

Qurden's house is a two building with a front porch painted blue, dead grass, clean path to the front door, clean floorboards, a mailbox beside the gate that has too much mail inside, and some windows are rounded or square shaped. It would have been completed if there were backyard lawn chairs. The flowers set on the wooden rails are alive unlike their dead front yard grass counterparts.

"We...had a little field trip here," Wesley admits, he takes a white suit out from the bushes beside the small stairs leading to the porch. "Most people consider this house a dictionary of what Demon's hate; I mean what they all hate." He comes back holding the suit. "From toys, food, to animals."

Doyle's attention shifts from Wesley to the suit.

"Is that a formal tuxedo?" Doyle asks, as Wesley held it.

Wesley laughs.

"No." Wesley wipes off a tear. "It's a Biohazard suit, for you."

_Wait, _Doyle thought,He_ just brought me to a house that has weaknesses for Demons, where Qurden lives!_

"I don't get it." Doyle starts, looking through the window on the door to see what is ahead of the doorway. He changes his attention from the door to Wesley. "Qurden's a Demon. How in the world can he live in there?"

"Medical Examiner Demons have weaknesses like humans," Wesley explains to Doyle, using it as a liberty to show off what he has learned from The school of Wizardy/slayer. He made sure there is no one watching them before continuing. "No matter what MDE's say (Short for Medical Examiner Demon) about their weaknesses; don'tt believe it. Now put this Bio Hazard suit on. There's a part of the house that doesn't have what can hurt Brachens."

Doyle takes the Bio Hazard suit and he reluctantly puts it on.

Wesley presses the yellow doorbell after Doyle got in.

"Don't think about taking a picture of me in this." Doyle warns Wesley, being in the biohazard suit. The Biohazard suit has some twigs and dirt on it but no sight of holes are obvious on it. It made Dyle look like he is wearing a version of a spacesuit and beekeeper suit put together.

Wesley has a short laugh.

"What happens in Los Demonio stays in Los Demonio " Wesley promises the Half-demon. _Glad I am not part demon, _Wesley thought back,_ Or else I would need one too. _Regular, everyday people do not consider having Biohazard suits everywhere they go...except for one detective in San Francisco.

Doyle points at him.

"I see what ya did there." Doyle catches on what Wesley just did.

Wesley's promise is the equivalent of 'What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas'.

** Creeeaaaaakk**

Doyle and Wesley's visibly jump, both turned white at the sound of a creepy-unsettling noise.

"Friends of my husband Qurdy?" Qurden's wife, Merry Jane, is a cute female looking demon. To be really precise, she has wild hair that pokes up regardless of it being up in a pony tail, she has hard ridges around her ears, soft chin, blue buttoned up shirt, black pants, red eyes, ear-rings on,and has small green thorns sticking from visible parts of her skin.

Doyle and Wesley could not speak.

"You two should know..." Merry said, opening the door wide. Her kindness is apparently radiating off her body. "The grass is not dead. So please, come in!"

Doyle looks over his shoulder to see a dark green, wide leaf shaped object standing in the corner of the fence.

"Glad to know you remembered about the bio Hazard suits." Merry said, stepping to the side of the door.

Wesley and Doyle stumble in.

"Ow." Wesley complains but then he gets up, straightens his jacket and dusts off whatever collected on his pants. "Name still Mary?"

Merry touches her chest, quite disgusted.

"It's Merry," Merry corrects him, loosing some respect for the rogue demon hunter.

Doyle gets upright,

"Another demon with a strange name, twice." Doyle muttered, helping himself up by a railing attached right beside the door.

Merry's red eyes become small and return to their normal size.

"Are you insane?" Merry asks, her friendly face turned into a face that didn't want someone who had a bad reputation in their house. She closes the door after the men were out of the doorway. Her eyes were not only bright. They are downright saying 'give me a good reason not to kick you out'.

Doyle laughs, as Wesley is struggling to come up with a response.

"No." Wesley finally said. "But I think your husband could help us."

Merry guides them to a section of the house that did not have weapons, plants, or materials that could cause harm to Brachen demons. They came to the other side of the house, in the quarters that Qurden told her to refer as 'The living room'. There is tea on the living room coffee table. Before Doyle could sit down, he just had to take the biohazard suit off.

That caught Merry off-guard to see him as a human.

"He's su-su-su-pposed to be a Brachen demon." Merry stutters, her fingers trembling. "Not a human."

Doyle rubs his eyes.

"He's half Brachen Demon," Wesley said. "Looks aren't all that telling."

"At first ya act like ya heard of me, but then, ya are surprised ta see me." Doyle shook his head, and sighs. He and Wesley sit on the couch. "That is a poor reputation. At least the Scourge doesn't know." He frowns knowing she is still staring at him. Doyle waves his right hand. "Please, stop gawking at me."


	10. By the time

By the time Demonic realized what is happening, he was already left alone in a creepy and very white is a large swing set. But the thing that puzzled him the most in this completely white room was a desk with markers, cranyons, and paper. _Wouldn't kidnappers have a dark room and just a mat instead of a bright room with a carpet? _He was too scared to use anything; Mommy hadn't thought about him getting scared from a kidnapper.

_Dad._

He hadn't seen his Dad, at all with mommy.

_How old am I?_ Demonic thought, looking around. _I really don't know._

_ C-creaaak_

Demonic crawls to the corner of the room.

"Scared of me?" Dean said, in the most cool but frightening voice.

_Mommy wouldn't want me to speak with a stranger._ Demonic recalls his mother's lessons about common sense and what to do about kidnapping-Even if he were kidnapped. She had many things he could do that would want the kidnapper to take him back of them would work on Dean. _This Stranger hurt me!_

He did not speak.

"Figures." Dean takes out a large, fairly decent sized blade.

_ What is that?_

"You know what this is?" Dean waves it back and forth.

Demonic hand's wrap around his legs.

_I cannot see a soul in the stranger's eyes._ Demonic observes, of course he has had practice staring into people's eyes out of boredom. He learned things quicker but not that fast. Things he did with his hand were not integrated into his brain all that well; Minus art and playing. His writing isn't all that perfect._ He's so...dull. He's much like a brick, harder than a spoiled egg. _

"This can kill Lycans." Dean touches the rough, uneven edges. His long, two tipped tongue (Like a snake) licks it. "And not only can it do this..."

Dean comes closer to Demonic.

"Itf your hero's friend comes here; I can just kill him," Dean said, with a might and fearless has a bruise on parts of his face. His hands have blood on them, his knuckles have upward ridges that appeared to be torn. His attire is dirty. He lowers himself towards Demonic's eye level.

Demonic is visibily scared.

"We had a tie." Dean admits, licking off some blood at the corner of his mouth.

"T-t-tie?"

Dean's face becomes different, similar to a vampire and a human's eyebrows hunched together.

"You have no idea what I am saying."

_ I actually do a bit...But a tie is not in my vocabulary._

Demonic did not speak.

"What a pile of grief." Dean stood up. "I will be glad to kill that Irish Demon and then you. The money is tempting; worth it!"

Dean grunts, holding a part of his shoulder.

"Wait until you deal with the wrong demon!" Demonic hisses, his fearless and stubborn streak showed up.

Dean turns around.

"Go play with your markers, lycan." He kicks over a pile of blocks. "And no one will get in my way. Nobody! And if they dare; I will kill them."

He turns around, leaving a white-faced Demonic gaping.

The scene transitions to Angel, alive but wounded laying in the sewers. That fight had literately blew the wind out of Angel. He has bruises and wounds about everywhere on his chest. Perhaps using his Vampire form couldn't be relied on all the time. He had a tie out of this. Both of them had lived this duel (Or more else a fight) with a fair share of damage.

"Doyle owes me his life story..." Angel comments on what Doyle had promised eyes squeeze. He is feeling bad pain from his head.

Angel needed some rest before heading back.

Angel's body just ached too much.

So he came to rest.


	11. I am a--what?

Merry sits down in a seat across from them; and then she pours some tea into a tea cup.

"Qurden may not like half-breeds." Merry notes of her husband's flaws. She hands tea to Doyle, who shook his hand. She hands the tea to Wesley instead. "And can be a cranky medical examiner, but…" Merry closes her eyes, her left hand grabs tightly on the arm of living room chair.

Wesley takes a sip from the tea.

"He's got a golden heart underneath it all." Merry finally said. "And a big, fuzzy,bear."

Wesley shaky hand puts down the tea cup on the dinning coffee table.

"Never...heard of him described this way." Wesley said, his hands are slightly trembling.

Doyle leans forward from the couch with a smile on his face.

"Ya should have heard him when I hooked up his assistant Ralph ta this cat demon." Doyle explains, putting his hands together. "Why are ya off work so early?"

Merry taps her fingers on her legs, smiling brightly enough she could have been made into a Christmas tree.

"We...had a…" Her right hand twirls some hair into knots. "A bit of an argument…over who gets to do the mass autopsy's today. There was an explosion at the bar."

Doyle shyly laughs as Wesley looks at him.

"It was the liquor." Doyle said, in self-defense his hands raise up.

Merry raises an eyebrow at Doyle's odd reaction.

"Don't look at me," The Irish half demon said, waving his hands back and forth. "I was there;but it is not my fault."

Merry's eyes light up, his voice sounded familiar. Doyle's voice rang a bell in her memory. _It sounds just a dead call I got last month. The rolling 'R'. Maybe that number is Doyle's. _The way he pronounced liquor convinced her that he could be one.

She knew Doyle's name by his reputation (That also failed to mention him being _half-_demon) that's shaky at best.

"Doyle, Is your phone number 213-555-6189?" Merry asks.

Doyle does a fake cough.

"Some-one probably used my phone ta prank ya," Doyle said, followed by a fake cough. He picked this act up from Cordelia. "Never called ya phone."

Wesley leans back into the couch, clearing his throat.

"So are your arguments typical?" Wesley asks her.

Merry snorts.

"No, we just argue who uses the telly at night and who gets to walk our dog Spot; I love _The Chew_." Merry goes off topic, making hand movements in different directions. It seems strange to know this a demon who acts like a British lady. "Qurden says he wants the old British, garbage cans shrieking a really rude phrase again on the old telly."

Doyle and Wesley both nod, pretending to be going on with what she is saying.

"Do you boys know what that is?" Merry asks, all wide-eyed. If she wore old fashioned glasses and a muletiple colored dress, with white bumpy hair, and perhaps was older than Wesley...Merry would have fit the old Grandma quizzical look. "Those high pitched garbage cans."

Doyle and Wesley exchange a glance.

"No." Doyle and Wesley shook their heads.

A few hours go by. Waiting for things to cool down outside apparently wasn't Doyle's thing. He didn't like being cooped up in a building waiting (Which ironically is what he does at Angel Investigations) and wanted to be out there in on the action; Helping The Helpless. Or getting help from The Helpless instead of him helping them. But, that didn't mean Doyle couldn't do a little searching around the house.

As in any part of the house that didn't have objects that hurt his half-demon side.

"Have you found Spot?" Merry hollers out.

Doyle bumps his head on some wood.

"Spot isn't hiding here," Doyle then adds, out of earshot. "Nor would it bother."

Doyle catches a pretty good smell from Wesley.

"Wesley, woah, ya smell good!" Doyle exclaims, but he…on the other hand…had got a bad stench on him.

"The Magic of showering in a demon's bathroom.. " Wesley waves a hand; he did not wear the peach jacket and white shirt that matched his pants (That he wore hours ago). But instead he wore a blue shirt that didn't match his black jeans.

It is dark outside, pretty much 6:45 PM as indicated by a grandfather clock.

"What's the story behind the dinner table?" Wesley asks, holding the delicate tea cup.

Merry rubs her small and thorny hands together.

The table is odd, not formal or familiar to tables from human reality. The middle has a overall arch raised up high that a small creature can sleep underneath it. There's a dog treat beside a chair corner.

"Spot sleeps under the table, that's why we have two structures to support it." Merry chews on a M&M cookies. She swallows the bite from an M&M cookie. "Instead of having a middle support wooden stake supporting it."

Doyle comes out the dark room with soot all over him.

"Where's the shower?" Doyle asks, as Wesley covers his nose.

"Down the hallway, turn left at the tree at the end, and close the door behind you." Merry tells him. "Just make sure you don't turn it on too hot. The Dryer has recently finished your clothes." Merry gestures to the chair at the corner of the kitchen's doorway.

On the chair is; A brown jacket, black pants, red buttoned up shirt that has a white line, and a gray sleeveless shirt. Underneath the gray sleeveless shirt are boxers.

Doyle picks up his really, good smelling clothes.

"I can't wait to take a shower." Doyle said, after he smelled his fresh and clean clothes.

Doyle goes into the bathroom.

** …Thirty-four minutes later…**

Doyle sat on the couch, and sighs in content. His hair is shiny and wet looking. Merry is in the other room looking for Spot. There is a different tea set on the coffee table that's white with pink leaf designs all around it and a pink tea top lid. The handles are a light gray but some bits of the handles are chipped off.

"Sounds like someone is ready to tell why a certain killanobi demon is bent on getting them." Wesley suggests, wiggling his right eyebrow.

"Ya a buzz kill." Doyle comment, slightly waving his left hand. "No offense."

"None taken." Wesley said, shrugging his shoulders.

"One; There's a bounty on me." Doyle puts his hands together. "Second….

Doyle tells him why Dean Dexter hates him this much.

"Oh." Wesley said, putting his back further into the couch. His eyebrows settle down together above his worried eyes. "…Wait…" It then clicked his head thinking about this. "You illegally slipped them into witness protection!"

"There's some flaws in dah system." Doyle gloats, rubbing his fist. The usual smile that a certain woman with dark hair would see on the Irish half-demon sprouted on his face. It is one of his best friendly, love-able qualities. He pats on the arm of the couch. "Best trick in dah book."

Wesley's eyes have the uncanny signal of 'Really?' without requiring to be spoken.

Doyle nods.

There's a rush of loud knocking heard from the front door (Which is quite far).

Merry comes out the other room, with a frown of disapproval.

"These men are rude." Merry turns her head towards the two men. "Men are the only ones who knock harder than women." Even in her young age, Merry had experience with fighting and knocking. Wesley takes a drink from a tea cup. "I don't need to be an elf in order to know who or what they are."

Wesley nearly snorts out the tea he is drinking.

"Ya read _Lord of Dah Rings_?" Doyle asks, understanding this reference to elves.

Merry's bright, wide smile came on.

"Legolass is the Captain of 'I know'." Merry then adds, after her smile went away. She starts walking out the room. "I do like red, it's shiny and symbolic. I'll be right back-Don't dip cookies into the tea. That does not come out well."

Wesley holds a cookie above his tea.

Merry walks down the hallway

Doyle's luggage levitates from under the table and scoots right beside his pant leg. _Is that a travel-demon bag?,_ Wesley thought gaping at the object, _It's been missing for centuries; Last documented to be in the hands of a slayer. How could Doyle get his hands on it—and own it?_ It made a lot of questions stir in Wesley's head.

"How did you get a Flying Bag?" Wesley asks.

"I did a favour." Doyle said.

Wesley tilts his head.

"A—what?" Wesley puts the cookie on a plate on the coffee table.

"Favour." Doyle repeats, looking down to the unusually purring luggage. Luggage's are probably the number one things that can scare a person if it can alive. "And this poor, exhausted demon bag was given ta me." He pats on the purring big, stuffed bag. He puts his dirty clothes in to the bag.

The bag burps.

"Missy, what have I said about burping?" Doyle scolds the bag, shaking his index finger back and forth.

The top edges of the bag folded together like a sad puppy.

"She loves ta carry dah stuff. " Doyle rubs the side of the bag.

"She?" Wesley repeats, confused. "How can you know it's gender?"

"Well..It's almost magical." Doyle flips over his left hand. "I stuff it in. I come back later, it's all folded."

Wesley takes a sip from the tea, and then he looks down to the bag.

Missy had changed into a hard, dark suitcase.

"What's her name again?"

"Missy."

"Wasn't Missy just a Mary Poppins bag? They aren't supposed to be capable of doing it."

"Ya'ar wrong on dat." Doyle corrects Wesley, as the bag scoots behind his legs. He is giving Wesley the 'Did-you-learn-from-an outdated-book?' eye. "They are really good at hiding."

Doyle shook his head, as Merry opens the door.

"For example; Missy prefers being in suitcase form," Doyle lifts a hand up, upwards. It's one of Doyle's 'explaining styles' (or so Cordelia calls it) that most wouldn't take note on. "And there are times I can't figure out which suitcase is her at dah airport!"

"When we came in, you didn't have the bag."

"She's a tracker," Doyle rolls an eye. "Didn't ya learn about dat in Watcher school?"

"…No." Wesley meekly said, tapping his fingers awkwardly.

There is commotion from the doorway.

"Take your boots off," Merry growls at a demons dirty shoes. "And learn some manners before storming into my home!"

"Shut up,you prick!" A demon (In a biohazard suit) pulls her aside.

Merry hit the rack of coats to the corner of the door.

"Get out of here!" Merry yells, as the other demons storm into the house. "They are here…"

Another Demon just carelessly knocks out Merry using a large bat.

"We're cooooommiiing!"

Doyle and Wesley heard (From the other side of the house) with enough time to spare. Thanks to Doyle's little 'Search for dog' that had been only two hours it was enough time that he found an exit through the house. Staying in Los Demonio made it reasonable to return home. Home as in Los Angeles.

"Did you leave last time because of something like this?" Wesley asks, as they go into a room that's part of a hallway all together.

Doyle shook his head.

"Different reasons." Doyle claims. "I only came into Los Demonio ta getsomething back."

The demons speed past the door.

"Maybe this is the exit." Wesley opens a door, and puts forward his right foot.

"Wesley, don—"

Wesley see's the daunting height from the floor to the grass.

"…Look down." Doyle finishes.

Wesley pulls himself back inside and closed the door behind him.

"I'm a;big idiot,directionless, fraud,.."

Doyle looks down to see a demon puppy with a tail that's similar to a poodle's running down the hall towards them.

"Pink,fluffy, cute-looking puppy."

"I'm a big idiot,directionless, fraud,pink, fluffy,cute-looking puppy—" Wesley caught himself in mid-sentence. He looks at Doyle in disbelief. "I am...a what?"

"Hold up a second;" Doyle picks up the small dog wearing a pink sweatshirt. "This is Spot."

Doyle hands Spot to Wesley.

"Hold him" Doyle said.

Wesley held the whimpering dog.

"Why me?"

"It goes well with ya insult." Doyle goes forward, then turns right, and takes a big painting off the wall. "I must know, did ya learn about secret passageways in the house?"

Wesley is being licked by Spot.

"No, I don't see why there would be." Wesley said, and he laughs as Spot licks his cheek.

Doyle opens the wall up—it's a sliding door—and there is a staircase leading down.

"Searching for Dogs is…has so many opportunities." Doyle said. "Now let's get outta here. "

"What about the dog?" Wesley is hugging the cute, adorable looking beagle-like-poodle-dog. He is more worried about the pet than himself. "We can't just leave him!"

Doyle rubs his forehead.

"Fine, but give him ta Qurden when we see him,"

* * *

Doyle and Wesley took the next step possible; Go to where Qurden works in. Nobody actually did notice them sneak out the house through the basement's doors outside. There isn't a soul out there driving at this time. At six this is when anything can go on from gang's patrolling their turf to demons acting out on their plans. Six is also the time when some demons are proven wrong in their complex plan foiled by everyday demon citizens.

Qurden turns on the nightlight to the night-time waiting room.

W—woof!

The entire room becomes a faint blue and the ceiling shows a puddle sized circle of mentioned color standing out from the darkness.

"Spot!" Qurden grabs the Dog from Wesley. He inspects the dog from head to toe making sure it hadn't been hurt. His eyes are changed from the calm, arrogant MDE to a startled and worried man. He looks up from the dog towards the men.

Qurden's sturdy, dark eyebrows hunched together.

"You better tell me what happened and why you brought the dog." Qurden said. _ There's something rotten up here. _His senses are alert.

"Ya house got attacked," Doyle said, feeling a bit uneasy as the light makes it seem that Qurden has a vampire face when he does not. "And….Uh ya'ar grass might be really dead dis time." Doyle adds, waving his right hand slightly.

Qurden hands Doyle the phone.

"I will take you to the doorway;" Qurden said, as Doyle took it. "But first. You must hide in the Staff room over there."

Qurden points to the door with the words 'Staff Lounge' that is illuminated by the light.

"Staff lounge, good to know corrupted Demons still have a sense of inbetween breaks." Wesley jokes, going into the room first.

Doyle goes into the room after Wesley, closing the door behind him.

"Don't worry, Spot." Qurden places Spot on the counter.

Spot tilts his head.

"It will be all right…Just hide under the desk."

Spot fell off the counter and hid under it.

Qurden takes a stake out from behind the computer that would normally be used in the day. Hyle and a bunch of other Demons storm into the room but take a halt when they see Qurden standing there. The tension in the room is unbelievable. However, his death-defying face creeped only a few.

"I know one of you hurt my wife."

Hyle's rebellious eyes and his fidgeting hands could be the best 'what' moment (In a way).

"Wondearing if you've bean on cocaine." Hyle said, in his most awful and english butchered voice.

Qurden's eyes flash, infuriated.

"Don't you dare butcher English in front of me!" Qurden shouts, as the Demons behind Qurden stand still.

"What are yah gonna do?" Hyle asks. "Show me a dead body? We want tea Irish Half-Demon. And you can't do a single 'ting about it. "

Hyle is not Irish. There is no one in his life or from his family tree that come from Ireland nor has some relatives from there. Hyle is butchering English and Irish. Qurden knew some friends who are really Irish on both sides of their family. What Hyle spoke in his own words makes Qurden want to scream. But that is not how a man treats a situation like this.

"Butcher English on me," Qurden's voice raises. "And see where that gets you."

From The staff lounge room; Doyle and Wesley were drinking from what was left in the fridgerator. Or eating what was left in it. They decided to use this time by having dinner. There was left over pizza and Spaghetti inside wrapped in plastic. They knew something was going on outside. However, Wesley didn't want to know yet he worried over Spot.

"I do worry." Wesley admits, rolling the spaghetti with the fork. "A lot."

Doyle has a short laugh.

"Dis is entertaining." Doyle takes the last bite from the left over pizza. He chews it then swallows. He finishes off the orange juice that had been in there, _If there was an award for worrying…I believe Wesley would win it, without a doubt. _

"At least this is better than eating tea and cookies." Wesley acknowledges. "Cookies can't satisfy the stomach for the night."

Doyle nods, in agreement.

**Ring ring ring. **

"Hello?

Doyle hears Cordelia's voice on the other end.

"Hey Princess, what's up?"

Cordelia is speaking too fast

"Cordelia, ya are speaking too fast for me," Doyle said. He is surprised to hear her talk this fast, from the recent months they had been sharing as team-mates. "Slow down." Cordelia's voice virtually lets him picture her trembling , scared _for him_. Slowly her words registered in his brain.

Dean has Demonic.

"Dis can't be happening.." Doyle said, brushing aside the plate.

Wesley holds his fork up wrapped in Spegetti.

"Eating Dinner while Qurden's out there doing what-god-knows-what to them, this is the most…unkind highlight of my day." Wesley holds the spaghetti right before his open mouth. His classes are right beside the green bowl. Steaming heat from the noodle could make anyone (Who hasn't eaten) to be hungry.

Davis is dead.

"But Angel has-ha-hahasn't been back," Cordelia stutters, the fear in her voice is not debatable. She is scared. "He swore there will be a cold day in hell that'll happen."

Doyle shot Wesley a glare as Cordelia explains what's made her frightened.

"He's out searching for your 'little oopsy', to kill him first before he kills you."

"What?" Wesley asks, defensiviely.

"It's been hours since Angel left. He hasn't been back."

"Angel, went out, ta kill him?" Doyle repeats what he just heard.

Doyle could picture Cordelia nodding.

"Pl-l-please tell me you have a plan."

Wesley was in the m idle of chewing when Doyle had said 'Angel went out to kill him' who he assumed to be Dean. There is one case going on at the moment that would require Angel's attention. If anyone wanted to guess what Wesley is thinking that it would be easy. The lighting on his face easily showed that: _Oh no. He couldn't have done that. _Wesley thought over the predicament. _Angel's not ready for a demon twice his…_

"I got a plan." It wasn't a necessary a plan, but getting Demonic to his dad is the 1st priority and not getting killed was the second priority.

Emotions and reactions are the tools people use to identify what someone else may be thinking.

"Is that Cordelia on the phone?' Wesley said after he had swallowed his bite.

Doyle lowers the phone.

"And scared." Doyle adds. "Care ta explain how ya know her?"

Wesley barely just smiles at his comment.

b—BARGE.

Qurden came into the room, closing the door behind himself.

"You two!" Qurden said, immeatedly with his hair wild and had some wounds on him. He has two black eyes, his horn is sort of cut off at the tip, and his voice sounds to be very grouchy. His eyes could be the only thing to tell he wants these two outta here.

Wesley drops the fork.

"One," Qurden's finger is shaking. "That phone was off the hook for the past 2 hours. That doorway is in the basement. Now help me move the fridge! Do you have someone who can give you a ride over there? Good. This person will need to drive really fast."

So Doyle hands the phone to Qurden.

Doyle and Wesley push the fridge out from the wall.

"Kick your foot in to the wall." Qurden said, with the phone away from his ear. "Boots up faster!" Qurden spoke in his fluent and heavy accent indicating that he did grow up somewhere around the Victorian Gardens. "Stop crying; because when I am done. You need to drive. That dog isn't cute for looks, little-miss-crybaby!"

There's a shriek from Cordelia snapping at Qurden.

"Did he just?..." Wesley asks.

"Yes," Doyle said. "He called Cordy here a 'Crybaby'."

Doyle kicks in the wall.

-F—f-FLASH.

A great blinding flash erupted from the wall. There weren't heavy wind gusts. It's similar to how it seemed to Angel (In the doorway formation) before going in to meet the Powers That Be. Qurden got through Cordelia, quickly saying 'That's right. Be there in twenty-four minutes. That's how long it usually takes.' Wesley takes a step back from the doorway.

Qurden ended the call, abruptly after giving her the directions.

"Get through that doorway!" Qurden orders them. "And you call me whenever you get the kid back. I will get him to his father, as a favor, Doyle." Qurden hands a card to Doyle. This has his phone number. " Do me a Favor,Doyle."

_It's better than getting nothing, _Doyle thought, _Maybe this will be an easy favour_.

"What?" Doyle asks after he took the card, standing halfway close to the door.

"Kill that Dean Dexter, whenever you meet him again." Qurden shook his finger at him. His eyes are burning the emotion that can tear a living man apart."He tortured my little sister—she was _a child_ - to _death_ . Guess what she was? A Half-breed. He claimed he was asked to do this by the Scourge."

_…Dean…..did..what? _Doyle takes in the information. _I saved that family from losing a child. They were humans all right. _They had a demon ancestor but that didn't mean they were part demon. Wesley lost all control of his jaw. _No wonder he evades capture._

"I can't take justice into my hands." Qurden adds. He looks down towards the floor; his hands roll up into fists. "I'm in the law."

_This won't be an easy favor to do,_ Doyle thought about it, _But I'll do it somehow. _

"I'll find a way." Doyle assures him. "…With some help."

"Then go, You Irish Half-demon!" Qurden orders him, as the banging on the door is getting louder.

Doyle goes through the doorway.

"…I hope this isn't going to make me free fall through white last like time." Wesley is shaking, taking small steps towards the door.

Qurden pushes Wesley in.


	12. Coming back ta Los Angelse

Doyle fell out the door in his human form.

"Rougher than the first one." Doyle takes a note to himself; he gets up. He notices Cordelia and Angel standing on a platform. _Where am I? _Doyle slightly turns around to see that lawyer with a girl's name.

The man is not wearing a shirt, but there's blood on the side of his mouth.

Then Doyle got visions that showed him what this Lawyer had done; These visions were not painful as the others. They were painless. The waiting dimension is able to subside whatever pain the traveler is in until they leave through the doorway.

"Then why is your spleen showing?" Cordelia said.

The black markings floated off the lawyer's chest disappearing into infidelity.

"Yoy..you…you are dead!" The Lawyer shouts at Doyle. "How can you be alive?"

Angel laughs, having to hear that more times than he can count.

"I took a doorway to the demon dimension." Doyle takes a few steps towards the lawyer. He used my name for the wrong reasons. "I used to like Lawyers, but now I don't. I am not going ta punch ya."

Doyle punches The Lawyer.

"You are dead!" The Lawyer staggers back. "A ghost cannot deliver a punch!"

Doyle rolls his left eye.

"Not even if it were half-demon." The Lawyer adds, wiping off blood from the corner of his mouth .

Doyle's blood gets heated.

"I am not dead." Doyle rolls up a sleeve. "I just get the visions."

Doyle hits The Lawywer and flips him over.

"Doyle's kicking his butt." Cordelia said, with a smile.

Angel rubs his jaw.

"He must have a favor for someone up there." Angel assumes.

The lawyer wipes off the blood as he got back up.

"No," The Laywer said. "It's your pretty little demon girlfriend who gets the visions!"

Doyle looks towards Cordelia, he sensed a demon from her.

"Cordelia…" Doyle said. Then he smiles knowing that she is okay.

Doyle turns back towards The Laywer.

"I am going to be negating this timeline." Doyle's hands become fists. "I won't die anytime soon."

Then Wesly came rolling out the doorway.

"I... Just…traveled.." Wesley said as he sweated. He saw The Lawyer and Doyle having an unpleasant interaction.

"But when I return ta Los Angeles…ya will wake up feeling every part in ya'ar body aching." Doyle furthermore threatens him. "I can't kill ya with these." He holds his weapons up. "But I can make ya'ar body hurt in my world."

The Lawyer takes out a cross.

Doyle transforms into his demon form.

"The ugly one here is ya" Doyle said straight out, being closer to the man. "The cowboy lawyer."

Wesley could tell by Doyle's attitude he's going to do something.

"Doyle, don't—" Wesley starts warning him but Doyle went on ahead to give several marks on the lawyer's chest. "Ow…that's got to hurt."

The cross drops to the floor as the lawyer's chest is covered in small red dots, Doyle backs away in his human form.

"Doyle. Whatever you are doing," Cordelia said. "Stop it. The senior partners will take care of it. I know you are there. I've always known you were sticking around. I remember you from the Hospital."

Doyle saw how much she's progressed without him, but a half of him knew she's not there. She's just a projection.

"Cordelia, you'll be seeing him again." Wesley said. "My…She looks…"

"Gorgeous." Doyle finishes for him, he shifts towards Wesley. "She can't hear ya, Except for the dirty lawyer."

A portal appears above The Lawyer.

"That…Wesley?..." The lawyer is stunned to see him. "You look so young."

Wesley looks to Doyle.

"We should get out of here," Wesley tells him.

Doyle and he shook hands.

"Then we are even."

A doorway from the other side appears for the duo, as a portal materialized above the lawyer.

"Wesley is not dead." Angel said, he shares a moment with Cordelia. "What is going on?"

Cordelia shrugs.

"I have a great opportunity ahead of me." Doyle said, taking a last look at how independent Cordelia looks to be. "…To see her hair become good."

Wesley goes through the second door.

"Doyle—" The Lawyer starts to say.

Doyle punches The Lawyer's face pretty hard.

"See ya, later." Doyle rubs his wrist. _He won't use my name, ever. I will live long enough to prevent him. _ "Cowboy."

Doyle went into the second door.


	13. Not so lonley Hearts

Recalling what happened last night is not exactly…vivid for Cordelia Chase. She woke up the next morning after…well…sleeping with Doyle. Doyle out of all people! How she got into bed with him could be deduced by one word…That we'll get to later. She was fresh out of High school, not exactly the kind of girl that a man would have sex with.

_"Cordelia,cool it down." Cordelia told herself. Holding on the wheel –Perhaps talking to herself—is keeping Cordelia in her right mind. Worrying about Angel and Doyle could make her break apart (mentally) in this very situation. Cordelia was driving Angel's car. _

_ Yes she is the secretary who does the calls and in-voices for Angel Investigations. No Cordelia is not wonder woman. She's one of those everyday people (who happen to get into supernatural business). And that she comes from Sunnydale, the (once) biggest and meanest girl in Sunnydale high school history. _

_ The job gave Cordelia a salary to go off while waiting for her acting career to start. _

Cordelia got out of bed, at 7:45 AM. It was pretty early for a human to get up at this time. However this isn't the case for Cordelia and whoever works for Angel Investigations. She got at least some sleep to keep her up for the day.

_ "Picture this as an audition!" Cordelia goes on, brightly. "…that doesn't require you doing this just so you can eat. It's going to be all right! Yes!"_

_ A blue and gray Volkswagen passes Cordelia, while honking at her. _

_ "Picture this as an adorable dog, and, wave." Cordelia instructed herself, smiling and using her right hand to wave at the passing Volkswagen. _

_ Cordelia quickly took hold on the wheel after the vehicle passed._

_ "Here comes your turn!" Cordelia excitedly informed herself, taking a swift turn at a bench (With old objects on it) right at the corner of the street._

_ After 2 minutes driving, Cordelia drove into a wide alley in-between a broken down grocery store and a boarded up pet store. The wall (of the Alley) to the right has two big bed mattresses set upright to each other. Across from them (on the left side) are two open dumpsters that have an empty wall space above them. _

"This wasn't a dream." Cordelia is using her blow dryer to dry her hair off. She lost her virginity to him. And Doyle may not exactly be on the 'oh that was…unexpected' safe side; Cordelia could safely guess he couldn't believe that even happened. Doyle wasn't in bed when she woke up.

She saw herself in the mirror; A girl who got in the crosshairs of supernatural and getting her hair dried.

What she did remember is fuzzy.

_ Cordelia parked the vehicle in park mode so it wouldn't go rolling back._

_ A white circle appeared on the wall above the open dumpsters._

**_ Flol—flrriiz_**

_A powerful wind gust sent the second mattress down which bumped into a big, long vent and fell right across/under the first mattress. _

**_F—lrom_**

_Doyle flew out the white circle then hit the first mattress. Next he fell on the second mattress._

_"Doyle!" Cordelia shouted, as she unbuckles her seat belt and opened the car door. _

_Doyle got upright rubbing the side of his head (In human form)._

_"Dat was worse than dah sewers." Doyle grumbles, looking up from the bed-object that cushioned his fall to Cordelia's direction. "Wesley's right behind me." _

_Cordelia grabs Doyle into a tight, warm hug._

_ "I was so worried about you!" Cordelia exclaimed, her hands on the side of his shoulders. She backed out the hug. Her eyebrows hunched together at the mention of Wesley. "Did you just say Wesley? As in Wesley, the watcher?"_

_Doyle shook his head._

_ "Watcher…Not exactly," Doyle tells her. "He's taken a different occupation."_

Cordelia came out the bathroom combing through her hair using a brush. The boys had talked about a plan. A plan she didn't really understand through and through. It involved microphones, big book of demon knowledge, some ingrediants, Doyle's slight involvement to draw him out, and Angel recovering from the fight.

_She looks at Doyle, letting go of his shoulders._

_ "So he's a…**Ex**-Watcher." _

_"Yes."_

_Wesley fell out the white doorway._

_ He landed in an open, empty dumpster._

_"I should have gone in voluntarily!" Wesley complained from inside the dumpster. He climbed out the dumpster (He more like fell out the dumpster). He could see Cordelia hadn't changed a bit since he last saw her in Sunnydale. And if she were to become that really good woman then Cordelia has a long road mapped ahead._

Cordelia saw an open notebook on the dining table right across the kitchen. She sat in the chair where the notebook lay. Her hair is drying off _(not dripping wet)_ thanks to the towel wrapped around it. Wonder is what lead her to read this object that had been ignored last night. Everything that happened last night was a bit fuzzy.

"I'm worried about you and Cordy," The Notebook reads.

That's Phantom Dennis's writing; it clicked in Cordelia's head. Doyle and Dennis were getting a-long…this time. A few weeks ago Doyle had waltzed in smelling and looking like he had spent the day in a bar, Doyle claimed Dennis took something—like a square, small box—Before he left her house hours ago. He went on to claim that 'Dennis has been hidin' me spare celebration scotch from dah last case!'and got locked in the restroom by Dennis.

"What?" Cordelia watches the book close on its own.

Confusion and fury goes through her small, frame body.

"Dennis, I was reading that!" She screeches, her hands balled up into fists.

The book flips back open.

"What kind of favor?...Doyle. What are you doing? Are you going to bed with her? DOYLE! she's replaced your coke with—"

Cordelia groans, slapping her forehead.

"Oh," Cordelia recalls, leaning against the seat. "I gave him scotch."

Cordelia rubs her temples, as Dennis puts a Coffee mug in arms reach for her.

"And I was scared that I would lose him…He doesn't have anything that really matters, asides to his packing bag….nothing left to remember him by." She takes the coffee. "Thank you Dennis."

_Cordelia had a unconvinced-what-the-hell facial expression.._

_ "What is your occupation, Wesley?"_

_ "Rogue Demon hunter."_

_ "Demon Hunter?" Cordelia repeats, with a smile as she is tilting her head. "What is a Demon Hunter?"_

_ She looks adorable to Doyle doing this. _

_Wesley told her._

_Cordelia's questionable look turns into a worried, concerned one._

**_Flf-f-llroozz_**

_ Out of the wall came a flying suitcase similar to Mary Poppin's bag._

_ "Doyle." Cordelia used her best 'I want some answers' voice. Missy floated to Doyle's side like a loyal canine. "Are you related to Mary Poppins or something?" _

_"Ya two have ta be kidding." Doyle referred to them both. He rubBED his forehead, annoyed by their constant reference to Missy as Mary Poppin's bag. "They ripped Mary Poppin's bag off Missy!"_

Cordelia blows on the coffee enough to cool it down.

_ "Doyle, where are you going to be laying low?"_

_ "My apartment."_

_ Wesley rubs his forehead._

_"He won't find me dis time around." Doyle said, with one of his assured tone of voice. "I moved apartments."_

_ "But Doyle...He knows you," _

_"Not dat well,"_

_"You told me, I quote 'He beat me up.'," Wesley quoted him._

_Eventually, with Cordelia's help, they came to an agree-able point. Tomorrow would be day two. So with the plan that Doyle had in mind and Wesley's vague knowledge in Killanobi's; there was an expanded plan. Cordelia didn't understand half of their conversation. However Cordelia is the one driving Wesley to Angel Investigations. Wesley assured her that he's going to get what they need for this plan. _

_ "Can they track humans?" Cordelia asked, raising a quick eyebrow at the rearview mirror. _

_ Wesley looks really sure. Doyle looks doubtful at best. _

_ "It is not hard ta find your presence," Doyle tell her, picking up the luggage. He finishes this with the one nickname that made Cordelia's eyes sparkle. "Princess."_

_"Not by my knowledge," Wesley adds. "Killanobi's are able to hunt down half-demons. Not humans."_

_Doyle rubs his forehead in a way that said 'Wesley just ruined the moment'._


	14. Wrong Address

Wesley and Doyle were in an abandoned, old elevator. The doors to the elevator are open. Wesley has some doubts about a few key components to their plan. It's 9:43 AM in the morning. They had spent two hours getting this plan ready. They are not exactly in the building where Angel Investigations is. Angel had insisted to help them; however some of his wounds prevented him from doing so.

"Doyle," Wesley tugs on a loose, rusty level sticking out from the corner of the elevator room. He tugs on it again. "What can we get from an elevator in this…really," Wesley hears a crack from the level. Leaning on the wall neighboring Wesley is a wooden plank "Stubborn plan!"

They are changing the elevator a little for their 'stubborn' plan.

"Dere's two ways I see it;" Doyle said. He wraps a thick, almost thin garlic skin around the much larger cables. He turns his head at Wesley's direction. "One, I die; two, we get Dean in his most vulnerable condition and get Demonic ta his dad."

"So how come we are meeting him here?"

Doyle glares at Wesley.

"Because Angel had dah right senses not ta tell where Angel Investigations is." Doyle uses wide garlic skin around lower half of the cables.

Wesley grabs the plank and uses it to split a corner of the level from the rest.

"If Dean wants ta meet us in Angel Investigations," Doyle connects the cables to the garlic, then he shut the box lid. "Dean's gettin' what he asked for."

* * *

It is 4:34 PM in the afternoon. Demonic learned getting through a white room is not hard. All he needed was to be in his werewolf form. The doorknob is easy to pick using a long claw. That's how Demonic was able to get into the fridge last night; eat some brownies, try lemonade (Tasted slightly bitter), and make a mess in the kitchen. He also discovered locking the knob is easy.

Dean's apartment door is not easy to open. So Dean did not know that it was Demonic who made the mess. Demonic pretended to be asleep in his room when Dean returned. He got this streak from his dad's side (A sneaky man) of the family. Paul's family has a history of grifters and con artists. On the bad side Dean did not know.

"Tell me how old you are." Dean is traveling through the sewers with Demonic on a leash. Dean does not trust the boy to be out there in the open (With Dean being a demon and all). He also has a gun aimed at him. It seemed quite mandatory to Dean.

Dean looks at him point-blank.

"Uhhh…" He is befuddled. _Maybe I should have listened to mommy on my birthdays. _

Dean jerks the boy.

"S-S—seven or NINE!" Demonic guesses. Anger makes Demonic shift into his lycan child form. His fists are shaking. His palms are padded, the fur slightly covering his knuckle raise up.

Dean stops, slack-jawed at his guess.

" Hw—w-h-h-h-how—why do you expect me to listen…" Demonic goes on. His hands become fists. "In front of delicious cake? NO! I cannot listen when there's chocolate in front of me! Take a guess Mr.I-have-been-alive-since-the-ice-age!"

Dean brings his gun up.

"Don't insult me. Lycan." Dean said, in a deep voice. "I have met more spoiled brats than you."

Demonic bites Dean's hand (The one holding the leash).

"My hand!" Dean lets go of the leash grabbing his bleeding hand.

Demonic ran fast as he can through the sewers. Dean wraps a handkerchief around his bleeding left hand. _This kid will not be biting when I get him! _ Dean has been through all the tricks in the book. But being bitten is not preventable. _Kids are fun to torture, but not fun to have 24/7._

_ "_Leashes are off the table," Dean notes to himself, running after Demonic.

Dean is running with the gun in his right hand.

* * *

Finding the correct way to the location where Angel Investigations is located took longer than Dean thought. It took twenty five minutes to get Demonic back (This time he didn't have a leash). This time Dean wore big, hard gloves that reach up to his elbows. When they came to the surface it was not hard to tell that it is dark outside. Or the fact it is late. It's 6:45 PM.

Angel had given him directions (Or instructions) to their building.

"Brrr." Dean shudders, feeling cold.

"What?" Demonic looks up towards Dean. He blinks twice and gulps.

Demonic can sense a bad feeling around Dean. Something truly disturbing hovered in this bad feeling that made him a little aware. Demonic didn't know if Dean is groaning because of a stomach ache…or doing this to scare him.

Dean rubs his free hand (With the gun) against his pant leg.

"It's cold."

Demonic is looking at him like 'What-kind-of-bad-guy-are-you?'.

"It's fine out there." Demonic shrugs. He looks at Dean's choice of clothing. "…For an old man." Dean has the physical appearance of a forty-three old man. "You got short sleeves on, if you listened to the news about it being cold you should have brought your jacket."

"I hate it when werewolf kids have spunk." Dean mumbles, grabbing Demonic by his shirt collar. "Right across from us is Angel Investigations." Dean points to the building across. "In an hour…you won't have a hero anymore."

That gets Demonic frightened. Doyle is not just Superman to him…Doyle is Batman to Demonic.

Dean enters the building (Forcing Demonic to come in with him) through the unlocked door. The room seems a little creepy. There is some moonlight making it almost visible to adventure inside. Some shadows coming from different furniture were exaggerated making it seem there were people inside. Demonic feels too scared to take a step into a shadow.

The door shuts behind Dean.

C-c—creaaaak.

There's enough light Dean could see a figure at the back. If Dean had night vision then he would have been able to see through it.

"I have the kid." Dean said, holding Demonic at gun point.

Demonic feels his heart beating a bit faster as the gun presses against his cheek.

"Doyle, stop standing there like a creep." Dean said, taking the assumption the figure in the dark is Doyle.

_Is he really…going through with this? _Demonic thought, his hands were trembling. _Does a hero really do that? No. Unless…_

"Don't you refer ta him as the kid." Doyle supposedly criticized him. "You sound like…An immature bank robber."

The 270 year old killanobi growls at this comment.

Demonic has good ears (meaning excellent hearing)and notices something up with Doyle's voice.. _Wait…does he…sound. Different? _Demonic thought, as Dean pushes the gun against his throat_, His accent sounds…different. _Demonic caught a glimpse of a man getting ready to shoot a slingshot at a part of the hallway (That Dean is not facing). _Who is he? _ The man has a finger on his lips.

"Come out if you want me not to finish this brat off!" Dean demands to Doyle.

**Wows—smack **

A brick hits Dean's face so he let go of Demonic.

"OW!" Dean yells taking a step back and used a free hand to clap on his face.

Demonic ran towards the man with the slingshot.

"What kind of coward does that…" Dean rubs the side of his face that hurt.

The person who he assumed to be Doyle steps out the darkness…

In fact, Dean was not talking to Doyle.

"Wesley." A woman came out the shadows. "And I'm Cordelia Chase, an inspiring actress! How did I do?"

Dean saw a woman in Doyle's place. If Dean hadn't seen many teenagers through his life then Cordelia would have easily fallen to him as an adult. She puts her hands on both hips. Cordelia smiles at how she fooled him. _I don't like being fooled. _Dean thought as he is a bit mad at her stunt. _And her an actress?_

"You are not Doyle!" Dean realizes he has been tricked by the very body he hates. It clicks in his head at the mention that Wesley, The man who supposedly quit being Faith's watcher, is part of this.

Doyle comes through a secret passage door (that looked like it was part of the wall behind a desk) carrying a nerf gun.

"But I am." Doyle said, as Dean is really ticked off.

Doyle presses nerf gun's trigger and then he sprays at what is inside the nerf gun all over Dean.

"Take dah exit!" Doyle shouts to someone across from him. "And Wes, get him ta Paul. I'll get dah blinds."

Dean rubs his eyes as he takes a step back and trips over a curled up rug.

"Cordelia, ya need more practice on ya Irish Accent." Doyle calls out to Cordelia. "And ten ya'll be doin' good at mimickin' me!"

Doyle flips a switch.

**Z-Z-Z-z-zzap.**

"Who turned off the lights?" Dean cannot see a thing. He feels around then uses what feels like a table to help him get up. It's quite ironic for a demon at his age not to be equipped with see-in-the-dark-googles.

Metal blinds cover all the windows.

"Me."

Dean is punched in the gut. He kneels over clenching his chest. _I'll make that Lekochen pay!_ The Killanobi demon gets back up and does air punches around him. Something hard kicks Dean square at his back. Dean fell on both hands. An ordinary man wouldn't have been able to do this unless they participated in lots of fighting. Or has superhuman strength.

"Dat is for Davis." He hears Doyle close but not far from him. "I don't usually do dis. But…Davis was a good friend of mine."

Dean races forward thinking Doyle is right in front of him.

**S-s—smack**

Dean hit a wall.

"For a 270 year old Killanobi, ya are terrible at hearin'." Doyle comments.

Dean turns around, feeling his boots getting wet.

"Don't you insult me Lekochen!" Dean threatens Doyle. Dean puts his gun away and takes out an axe from his back.

Doyle ran through a hallway which lured Dean to following him.

"You better run, when I get my hands on you…" Dean is certain he is going the right away as he hears the sound of Doyle's shoes closer. Spikes from the floorboards make holes in Dean's boots. Some of these spikes poked through his boots to his feet.

He hears Doyle slid into a corner.

"Scared of an axe," Dean mutters. "How brilliant."

_-W-wosh_

A bucket dumped some kind of liquid all over Dean, again.

"Dooooyyyyyylleeeee!" Dean shrieks. "This is so not worth getting the money, now. Killing you is!"

**R-r-rool**

Dean hears something rolling his way.

"He's doing a Home Alone." Dean jumps, and then digs his hand-like claws into the wall.

**Rororll.**

Dean hears it pass.

"I will rip him from limb to limb." Dean lets go of the wall.

**s-S-Mash.**

A chair collides with Dean. It ends up getting broken by him. Dean throws its pieces right behind him.

"This is stupid!" Dean furiously said.

"Ya want ta fight face ta face?" Doyle's voice is carried down the hallway. "Ten come down dis hallway and don't use ya axe."

It sounded like a fairly good deal.

"I have one request." Dean raises his voice. Dean's arms are reached out with one of his hands feeling around for Doyle. "Turn the lights on."

He hears Doyle's laughter.

"Follow my voice," Doyle's voice is carried through the hall. "When I see ya. I'll turn dah light on."

It is a bargain but Dean wanted this done.

So that's exactly what he did. He replayed the voice in his head multiple times. However Doyle's occasional "Ya getting cold—nooo nooo ya freezing dere!" hints were annoying. _I hate Lakochens more than anything. _It seemed to Dean that Doyle enjoys doing this. It made Doyle seem like a smart-cookie who knew what is happening. After the long blinding guide Dean came to a room with light.

"Ya like elevators?"

Dean turns around.

"Elevators are nothing compared to stairs." Dean brags, slightly lifting his axe. His eyes did not show mercy. "My chosen targets get to believe they are safe…when really they are not."

Doyle yawns, leaning on a flat and rounded machine-button.

"Give up and let me kill you, Half-breed." Dean takes his gloves off. Dean drops the two like he didn't care. He feels the sharp rim of axe.

Doyle all but smiled, not scared by his intimidating features.

"Who hired ya, again?" Doyle asks, relaxed and eerily calm. He is holding a soft, rounded blue ball. His hand becomes prickly in black spikes, his skin changes from Caucasian to green, his eyes change from normal eye color to a bright hue of red, his chin visibility changes to Dean's slight surprise.

The 270 year old Killanobi takes a step back.

Doyle raises an eyebrow.

"You ar-r-ar-r-ar- not a Brachen, you are half Lek-l-le—eleko-lekochen." Dean stutters, shocked to see he is wrong. What he had heard was a mistake.

Doyle puts down the ball; then he takes out a ciggerate and lighter. The Half-Demon flicks on a lighter above a ciggerate. _Did I just…make the biggest mistake in my career?_. He hadn't heard Doyle could do smoking. Nor had he been rumored to be. _He's too calm. He's not a Lekochen. _

Doyle looks up from the ciggerate, slightly smiling.

"Lekochens may be able ta breed with humans and morph ta teir demon form…" Doyle calmly said, turning on the lighter. "Brachen's do not have; bunny rabbit ears, green fur on teir faces, human feet dat resemble small rabbit feet, and small horns on teir foreheads."

Dean takes another step back.

"I shouldn't be scared of a half-demon!" Dean snaps, and then he charges towards Doyle.

Doyle shook his head, apparently amused what he knows is going to happen.

"I'm sorry ta say I ain't dah one on fire." Doyle lit the ciggerate then tosses it to Dean.

The Ciggerate landed on Dean's pant leg and he ignited into flames.

"DOOOOOYYLLEEEEE!" Dean shrieks, waving his flaming arms around.

He drops his axe.

"Ya showed him no mercy." Doyle said as he watches Dean shriek while burning at once. It did make him feel sick but he wanted Dean to feel what his friend may have felt. Doyle wants to see him pay before leaving. "And I am showin' where dat gets ya."

The flames traveled up to Dean's gun that had been put away.

All his bullets went off.

Doyle watches Dean fall back into elevator and the electricity blew but the sight of him burning in the elevator with flames making Dean seem like a torch is obvious. Doyle turns away from the burning Killanobi. He heard the elevator fly up. The floor is catching on fire. But being half Brachen is an advantage for Doyle. Well wouldn't anyone want to know why?

Then Doyle jumps out a window.

**C-Cras—ehsatter**

Doyle lands outside the building a few feet from the door.

The scene transitions to Demonic and Paul, reunited for the first time in many years. It's obvious Paul didn't really what to say. But what Doyle had told him earlier two days ago on a napkin "Be a Dad" underneath where he should meet him. Paul and Qurdendidn't meet Doyle there but a man named Wesley.

"I'm your dad." Paul said, kneeled down to Demonic's level.

Demonic wiggles his dad's ears.

"Your ears are made of rubber," Demonic said, and he slowly smiles."Dadddy!"

Demonic hugs Paul.

"Please give Doyle my gratitude." Paul said, looking up towards Wesley. "And what's your middle name? Is it better than mine?"


	15. Wrong House

**T-TTHUD**

The door falls. In its place is Dean Dexter (Who is alive and burnt). Dean steps into the room.

"DOYLE." Dean begins. "I am here—" He stops in midsentence.

Dean then realized where and what exactly he is in; The Wrong house.

"Hold your hands up." There are gangsters aiming their guns at him. "And don't move you, beast!"

The 1st Gangster, Harney Billbo, cocks his shotgun.

"You should lower your weapons." Dean tells them, touching the tip of his sword attached that is part of a sheath going from his chest to shoulder. It's similar to what machine gun bullets was part of when going through the gun. His jeans are more torn than usual. His dark motorcycle jacket's collar was almost a shield to his neck. But the rest of his not-so-good-in-condition style said otherwise.

These men did not move.

"What?" Dean said, raising his voice up a pitch.

"You tortured children…"

"To death…."

"Not cool, Demon, not cool."

_I will kill him, then bring Doyle back to life, and kill him again. _Dean grouchly thought, his patience is wearing thin. He _knew_ where the half-demon lived. This is the location where the apartment should be. What happened to the apartment is a mystery to him as the Bermuda triangle is a mystery to humanity. He yanks both blades out from the sheaths.

"Doyle is mine." Dean strongly said. "And only one of you will live to tell him that. Irish half demon; Green skin, black spikes, red eyes."

Then Dean killed most of the men, leaving Harney as the survivor.

"Tell Doyle this; I will find you, first I will kill one by one of your friends or family until you comes to me. Until it's only your little princess left between you and me." Dean said, "Minus Angel. He's not my business to kill. Only_ you_."

The scene transfers to Angel Investigations.

Cordelia puts her hand on the edge of the doorway.

"Doyle?" Cordelia Doyle put away, 'Angelas Ashes' into a drawer. "Where's your apartment?"

Doyle laughs, patting the side of his desk and slid the drawer in.

"I can't tell ya, Princess." Doyle tells her. "I can't tell ya until next week. I'll know where it is by then."

She raises an eyebrow.

"You don't know where it is?" Cordelia reasons the knowledge. She taps her chin.. "What did you and Wesley do back there?..."

"It's for me and him ta know." Doyle said, with a shrug.

Cordelia smiles, her eyebrow settles down.

"There's a Halloween Restaurant down town." Cordelia said, picking up her purse. "It is open all year. People who are obsessed dressing up can go on dates in their costumes—which yours is kind of a costume."

"What's it called?"

"The Cherry Bean."

"I'll be right outside…Have ta get something put a-way."

Cordelia felt so relieved and happy, closing the door behind her.

_This isn't over, _Doyle's gut told him.

"It took one night for me ta get in a two day worth trouble!" Doyle shook his head, taking his wallet out from the desk drawer under the one that's used almost every day. He looks over his shoulder. One time he hid some good shoes in the drawer from Cordelia, next thing Doyle knew is they were gone.

He shrugs off this uneasy feeling.

"Make up," Doyle morphs into his demon form. He has a chuckle seeing how clever this date could get. "Perfect excuse."

He walks out the door and goes with Cordelia.


	16. Wrong Person

It's almost dark in a Los Angeles city street. Street lights are on leaving wide, bright searchlight pools on the sidewalk. There's a man running down the street. He is sweating. This man looks over his shoulder briefly. Who-ever-is-chasing-him must be bent on this; as the man looks like he had been running for quite a while. His breathing is fast.

Who is chasing this man?

Far behind him is Dean Dexter.

The man's heart is racing: _thump la dump da dup_.

"Somebody HELP!" The man screams. But to his dismay there isn't a soul out there to help.

He takes a small flip phone from his pocket, that had folded paper hanging lose from the flip-phone's corner.

"Doyle." The man reads aloud what is below the phone number.

The man had never thought he would come across a name like this.

"I…Don't know…" The man reads the name below the phone number. "Who..this..Doyle figure is but he's gotta help me!...And he…needs to…know!"

Dean is catching up.

"213-555-6189…" He ran into a closed, unlocked store. The man presses 'call' and puts the phone to his ear. "Please answer."

The scene transitions to Doyle's hand feeling around on the desk for his ringing phone.

**Ring ring ring.**

Doyle grabs the phone from the desk and puts it to his ear.

"Give a good reason ta call me at night." Doyle sounds tired.

"Are you Doyle?" The man on the other end asks.

"Uh…" Doyle combs through his hair. "Yes."

"I'm really, really scared." The man on the other end said.

"Dis is really awkward for me." Doyle said. "Now tell me why ya called me!"

The man looks through blinds.

"I'm being chased by this cold blooded freaky man." The man said. "I…I am an Identity thief. I stole…some clothes from this man's house. Your phone number was in the flip phone.."

Doyle groans, feeling tired enough he wanted to fall back asleep.

"Sorry, I can't help ya sleep deprived." Doyle said. "Call Angel Investigation—"

Dean is headed his way.

"He's coming after you." The man said.

Doyle had already started to put the phone away from his ear.

"You got his message?"

Doyle blinks a few times.

"Who is dis?" Doyle manages to say/.

_ It's been a week. _Doyle thought. _How can he be healed so fast?_

"Franklin Hardeson Ellioet." The Man said, and then hid behind a counter. "I'm sorry. But you have to get outta town man. He came up to me and said 'I'm coming after your friend Doyle through his friends, you are the first.' And made me run for an hour. Keep your friends closer and enemies far away."

Dean throws his axe at The Man.

**-B-b-beeeep.**

"Did..dat…really?" Doyle contemplates it, but then puts down his phone and goes back to sleep.

* * *

**Cordelia's apartment…**

_Cordelia feels scared. The sirens and officers being in the same scene makes her skin crawl. It felt as though she was re-experiencing when Angel left Sunnydale. Except this feels different in some way… she turned her head to see Doyle where Angel should be. Her heart races seeing him. Doyle turns, and then walks away from Cordelia, just like Angel did when he left Buffy. _

_"Take care of her," Cordelia recalls an earlier comment in her dream. It sounded like Wesley's voice. "Doyle."_

_Wesley and Angel came to her._

_"Where did he go?" Wesley asks firs._

_"He—eh…he left!" Cordelia begins crying. **Why am I crying? **Cordelia didn't understand why she is, but… Cordelia is crying in the midst of things. _

_Wesley looks towards where Doyle had been._

_"He went that way?" Wesley asks.  
_

_Cordelia nods._

_ "Has Doyle gone nuts already?" Angel did not sound pleased what he is saying. "Facing them himself; he's lost it. Cordelia, we'll be right back."_

_Wesley and Angel ran after him. _

"DOYLE!" Cordelia shouts, racing forward from her bed.

Dennis holds a phone for Cordelia.

"I don't need ." Cordelia said, with a yawn. Dennis puts the phone back into the receiver. She falls back on the bed. "I do not understand…my dreams."

* * *

**24 hours later…**

The doorway in to the store had been chopped into pieces. Part of the closed sign is in half. The door knob (that people used every day until now) is unrecognizable and to be frank it is in many pieces. A blue rug is stained in blood. The glass is everywhere below and around the threshold. The store is a complete mess at the front. Across the doorway is a tarp covering a dead body.

"Who's our victim?" Kate asks, standing away from the body. She is holding a cup of coffee in her right hand. It's one of those ordinary days for Kate to be investigating a human crime. Not all her cases were supernatural oriented. She takes a drink from her morning coffee as though it's something casual.

The yellow tape and police officers are what kept a crowd of people from messing the crime scene up.

"Jefferson McCoy," The ME said, taking off his gloves. He picks up a bottle of open water and takes a drink from it. He gulps down a sip. "He was chopped."

Kate puts her coffee cup on the table.

"Liver chopped?" She and another detective take a step back, as a man comes through the back door.

Another cop looks up from an isle in the junk food section watching the Man come straight up to the body..

"No!" The ME rubs his eyes. "His body is chopped to pieces. I am no expert but…the amount of blood on his hands says the killer did it when his victim was alive."

This man is no other than Doyle.

"And why is he in the crime scene?" The cop in the food section isle points out.

Dole uncovers the dead body(At the head), and then covers his nose smelling what the tarp had been over.

"Dis is not Jefferson McCoy." Doyle said, in a muffled voice as he let go of the cover.

Kate and the Cops realized just then Doyle is in the crime scene.

"How the hell did you get into my crime scene?" Kate asks, in her most authority-furious voice. Her attitude today is not the best moods at all.

Doyle stands up.

"What crime scene?" Doyle asks, looking around innocently. He changes his direction towards the threshold and then back to Kate. "I don't see any Crime Scene Tape."

The cop, Wilson Mongroe, rubs his forehead.

"I'll get that…" Wilson goes out the door and heads to the vehicle where the yellow tape is usually stored in.

Kate is giving Doyle one of her 'Explain why you are here' glare.

"He's a buddy of mine, and this is no Jefferson." Doyle said, slowly shaking his head. He turns away from the crowd of civilians. People are taking pictures using cameras. A picture is taken of Doyle. "Dis is someone else. He's an Identity thief."

Kate decides to tempt Doyle with a question.

"How do you know?"

"Dah man called me." Doyle tells her. "His real name is Franklin Hardeson Ellioet…Dat's really long."

The ME goes out the door. If they are going to get the body out of the crime scene then they will need a stretcher, a tarp, and some other ME's who have the stomach to put chopped body parts on the stretcher. Doyle puts on a mask that usually a Doctor would put on when around someone contagious.

"He doesn't smell that bed." Kate states.

Doyle's face is 'You-are-lucky-to-be-human'. Brachens have excellent smell.

"If you could kill anyone in the entire world, who would it be? Kate then asks him.

"If I could kill anyone in dah entire world…" Doyle mutters, getting a start on his answer. He had to figure out a way not to let Kate in what Angel really is. But the question gave Doyle some sort of feeling that felt right to say what must be said. He looks down. "I wouldn't do dat."

Kate puts her hand on the edge of her gun.

"You are lying." Kate said.

A detective could hear Doyle chuckle even when they are searching for other evidence.

He laughs.

"Not lyin' ta ya." Doyle waves his hands.

And then he continues.

"It's not right, especially murderin' non-demon people." He could see confusion on Kate's face. It's obvious he caught her off guard. "But if it has ta be done… ten I'll have my friend Angel do dah dirty work." Doyle looks up from the floor to see Kate quite puzzled. "If he can't do it ten I'll have ta do it...It'll be hard. But keepin' a secret from someone ya love is harder tan it seems, when ya don't want ta hurt tem."

"Non-Demon…people?" Kate is starting to believe Angel and Doyle have gone to lunatic-vile.

Doyle nods.

"Yes." He watches Wilson Mongroe step back inside the building. "I am not crazy. Dat's what ya need ta know."

Kate is not going to follow what he say, anyway.

"And ya shouldn't get involved," Doyle warns her. "A human did not kill dis man."

* * *

**...Doyle's apartment...**

** ...9:49 AM...**

Wesley shuts the door behind him.

"So, ya tellin' me dis in private," Doyle said, his feet up on the recliner stretcher. "And ya tellin' someone who's kind of shady."

Wesley sat in a chair.

"Doyle, if a vampire hunter from sunnydale-someone that is not Buffy-comes looking for me and I'm gone..."

Doyle has a laugh at his friend's worrying.

"If dat did happen; dis vampire hunter would know. " Doyle said. "News travels fast dese days."'

Wesley puts his hands together, shaking his head.

"So, who's dis Vampire Hunter ya tellin' me about?"'

"Faith Lehane." Wesley said. "In a way...Faith is Buffy's opposite; different background...and doesn't like Angel."

In a way Doyle could tell something is fishy about this. But it was not quite right. "Dere's somethin' dat happened ta her and she isn't here because of dat, but ya tellin' me...Why?"

"You need to know."

Doyle raises an eyebrow at him.

"And?"

"She would need help, other than being cooped up in jail. She's got a good heart...But things just spiral out of control for her."

A lightbulb went off in Doyle's head.

"She's going through the juvenile phrase?"

"It's a bit rougher than that."

Doyle flips down the lever and the couch recliner went down.

"Tell me."

Wesley explains to Doyle about Faith.

"...Was she on anythin'?" Doyle asks, as he rubs his chin.

Wesley shook his head.

"And Doyle; she may not believe I am not around for her to use as a torturing...doll." Wesley shudders at the mention. "It'll be hard, but killing her won't be the solution. Death isn't always the answer for a girl like her."

Then Doyle understood Wesley was warning him, ahead of time.

"Wesley, stop with dah worrywart act, ya not goin' ta die." Doyle assures him. He has something to tell Wesley. "Wesley, I havta tell ya dat Dean's... "

"On a cruise to The Bahamas?"

"On a murderin' spree; killing dose people outside of Angel Investigations who are close ta me."

** ...1: 34 PM...**

** ...Angel Investigations..**

"Cordelia, do ya ever wonder if we have doppelgangers out there?"

Cordelia puts a big plant in the corner across from the main door.

"Everyone has their counterparts in this world," Cordelia tells him. "I am going to play a one episode role for Law & Orderrrrr!" She is chippery and bright. Cordelia got a make up bag from her desk drawer.

"...Princess isn't dat too much make up?"

Cordelia laughs, zipping up the dark bag.

"Nothing is!" Cordelia bubbles.

Doyle hands a stake out to her.

"Take dis for protection."

Cordelia raises an eyebrow at him.

"Doyle... if I take this on set with me, people will get confused." Cordelia tells him, her eyebrow lowers to it's original position. "Speaking of which; is there something going on with dat Dexter character?" Her eyes sparkle. "OH, one step for acting an Irish accent!"

Cordelia does a air pump.

"It's cause I don't want ya ta be unarmed when he comes." Doyle puts the stake on the desk. "I havta make a call."

Doyle goes outside and dials a phone number.

"Who is Doyle talking about?..." Cordelia looks over to Wesley reading a book on the couch. She waves her hand up and down. "Wessleeyy!"

"What?" Wesley looks up from his book.

"Doyle just acted weird, do you know something I don't?"

"Cordelia," Wesley puts book down on his lap.. "People that are close to Doyle are Dean's targets."

**...Outside Angel Investigations...**

Doyle calls Jefferson's phone number.

"Come on…Come on…" Doyle taps his foot.

**Ring ring ring rring.**

Jefferson picks up the phone, getting out the shower.

"Hullo?" Jefferson said, over the phone. "Oh Doyle, it's you. You are the only Irish man I know who calls in the morning."

Doyle chuckles at that.

"Get outta town."

Jefferson is startled on the other end,wrapping a towel around his head.

"What?" Jefferson proceeds to brush his teeth.

"Get outta town, man." Doyle goes on. "A thief was killed in your place; even though he was your doppelgänger….Ya need ta get out of dah city."

"I just got out the shower." Jefferson holds his tooth brush. "You are not making sense."

Doyle sighs, looking up to the ceiling.

"Dean Dexter. Know about him?"

Jefferson is staring at the mirror, his jaw is almost dropped but he drops his tooth brush.

"DOYLE, WHAT DAH HELL DID YOU GET YOURSELF IN?" Jefferson screams; Doyle takes the phone away from his ear. "THAT IS THE MOST SLOW-PAINFUL KILLING DEMON IN HISTORY. WHAT DAH HECK DID YOU DO TO TICK HIM OFF?"

Doyle puts the phone back to his ear.

"I used ta have a bounty on my head." Doyle said. "I took care of dat. But he's taken it a step further."

Jefferson brushes his teeth quickly, and then he begins packing his bags.

"I expect he's going after everyone you know , right?" Jefferson asks, zipping his backpack. He got on a hoody, shirt, lounging pants, wrist bands, and put his ear piercings on. He has a tattoo under his mouth right above his chin.

"Yes."

"Nice knowing you, and don't try finding me, Francis."

* * *

**…China….**

**….11: 49 PM...  
**

There's a street at night where few people bother walking down. Perhaps the best way to say is; the sound of men running through the street sets its own scene alone. Shouts are heard from two boys. Cats that had been curled up then run away into an alley. The first man that looks like twenty three year old comes running through.

"Come on, Floyd!" The first man shouts to the man behind him. He looks Chinese. But his friend doesn't look that way as Floyd looks quite American.

He steps on a cat's tail.

**Y-Y-Y-YOWL **

The Cat screetches and swipes at the man's pant leg.

"I'm comin' Andrew!" Floyd shouts, as they were running from some cops through the street. He has an Irish accent like Doyle in Los Angeles.

"This is the last time you'll be running!" An Officer shouts running after them.

Floyd has a similar hair style as Doyle, except he has light brown hair and a lighter tone of green eyes.

"Floyd, where should we go this time?" Andrew asks.

Andrew trips over a discarded chair.

"Hold it!" The officer (Let's just give him an English name) Harry Office shouts, holding up his gun first.

Floyd skids to a halt. His skin turns into prickly green fur , small black thorns appear on his forehead; his small precious eyes turn blue. Floyd's ears slightly become elf-sized but bear a definite shape to rabbit ears Andrew on the other hand has a gray shirt and brown pants, with sneakers. Andrew holds a bundle of 'do-not-steal-'supernatural objects in his hands.

"What the hell..." Harry's friend Franisco lowers his gun at Floyd.

Floyd has a smile that most criminals wouldn't do.

"Boo."

Harry ran away from the scene, shouting to the other officers about a 'Demon on the loose'.

"Hold your hands up," Francisco said, raises his gun up.

Andrew and Floyd share a 'lets-teach-him-a-lesson' look.

"Why don't you just die?" Andrew said, his face became different. It's best to say his face has become like a vampire. He shows his wide, small vampire fangs. The ridges above Andrew's eyes raised forward. Andrew's face looks entirely different except for his hair that is.

Floyd and Andrew attack Francisco; Floyd and Andrew beat the cop up. Andrew finished him off by draining his blood. It was a refresher for Andrew who usually didn't enjoy this luxury. It's because many people are aware what he is and even the demons who work with had seen the similarities to him and Angel; that's when they saw something.

Now…They wind up getting chased by even more cops.

Floyd looks over his shoulder.

He smelled an apartment where a dead lady is at.

"Here!" Floyd proclaims, skidding to a halt at a wooden, latched door.

Floyd rolls his right eye.

"I'm using thumper power, again." Floyd took his boot off.

Then Floyd kicks the door.

**F-f-fram**

The door flew open; Floyd hops in as he puts his puffy, small rabbit-human feet back in the boot. "Come on, Andy!" Floyd called in Andrew by his nickname. "This is breaking and entering."He hated being a vampire for this. Vampire had its perks and cons. This is just one of them. "I can't go in without consent."

Floyd rolls his eyes.

"Andrew…" Floyd rubs his forehead. "The lady's dead."

Andrew came in and Floyd shut the door behind him.

**S—sshut.**

The police officers rush by.

"Sweet! She has a computer!" Floyd gets on the computer. He browses on the internet; Adrew puts down the equipment they stole on the table.

_For being a man who doesn't use the computer a lot,Andrew_ thought as he spread out the weapons on the table. _Floyd sounds happy to use the computer. _ Andrew contemplates over his friends contradictory comments. The blade that once stabbed him in the back was no stranger to Andrew's hands when he observes._ I know him quite well, but. He has some secrets in there. _

Floyd gasps, raising his hand up from the computer mouse.

"Andrew!" Floyd calls out. "Ya might want ta see dis."

Andrew walks over to the Computer

"Dis guy looks like meee." Floyd points at the online-surfaced image of Doyle looking at the crowd.

Andrew had to blink his eyes a couple just to focus on the man's face.

"We look alike." Floyd said.

Andrew's face subsides from its vampire face to the human one.

"No wonder demons have been calling you 'Doyle'." Andrew said, standing upright.

Floyd raises his left eyebrow.

"Who?"

Andrew turns his direction away from Floyd listening to the sound of footsteps from upstairs. He is facing towards the weapons. He walks towards that direction. He stops at a bow and arrow version of a vampire kit. Andrew picks it up at Floyd's eye level. Floyd hadn't morphed from his demon form for quite a while.

Floyd's left eyebrow went down.

Andrew holds up his index finger.

"Allen Francis Doyle." Andrew finally said, looking in the dark hallway. "Demons know his name. But rumors have it he's half Lekochan."

Floyd snorts at this.

"Poor man; I'm dah only Lekochen around here, anyhow." Floyd said, shaking his head. "Uh huh." He didn't sound convinced that a man named 'Doyle' was rumored to be a Lekochen. Floyd folds both his arms on top of another. He puts his feet on the edge of the desk. "What about ya, Mr-I-love-chaos?"

"…Or he is your doppelgänger." Andrew finishes his thought aloud, turning away from the dark hallway.

Floyd rubs his chin.

"We look alike; doesn't mean we are twins or somethin'…" Floyd said, unfolding his arms.

"Floyd let's make this our base with equipment for unwanted vamps." Andrew said, holding his hands up like he is holding up a poster board. "The Crew; only for the men who mess around the law enforcement…At night!"

Floyd is worried.

"Isn't dat sexist?" Floyd points out a flaw.

Andrew bit his lip.

"Bein' evil does not involve dat." Floyd huffs. "It's when ya want somethin' separates ya from an ambition and ya have ta do some bad stuff ta get it. Ya just bein' mean dere, Andy. Ya been alive for—what? 158 years," Floyd shook his head. "And ya don't know dah difference between evil and mean, Andy!"

Andrew sends a 'don't-push-your-buttons' warning glare.

"Some Vamp's I know have it." Andrew said.

"Funny for a vampire ta be sayin' dat." Floyd said. "Don't kill me for dat. Okay?"

"Why would I do such a thing for my partner in crime…" Andrew said, in a way that is different from Angel. Andrew does not have a soul. He has been alive for 158 years as a vampire. And he has not come across gypsies in his life.

They hear someone in the hallway.

That someone is Cornelia Lase.

"Stop what you are doing!" The young woman said, with her dark hair up in a bun. She is holding up a shot gun. She is a Chinese counterpart to her American counterpart.

Floyd saw potentenial in Cornelia; but is not interested in her.

"Andy…are ya thinkin' what I am thinkin'?" Floyd said rather than ask as he got up from the chair.

Andrew cracks his knuckles.

"I sure do." Andrew said, taking a step forward.

Floyd saw potential in Cornelia to be become a prominent, skilled thief.

"Step back!" Cornelia shouts, pointing the shot gun at Andrew. "I am not scared to use this!"

Andrew shares a nod with Floyd.

**F—f-flip.**

The lights go off. Andrew quickly overpowers the woman and ties her up on a chair.  
"Let me go!" Cornelia screeches.

Floyd flips the lights on.

"You—AHHH WHAT ARE YOU?" Cornelia saw Floyds's Leckochen's face. She is horrified to see Floyd. "LET ME LOOSE. I DO NOT like demons!"

Floyd turns the computer screen off.

"Demons are awful, disgusting and not-trust worthy." Cornelia continues.

Floyd smiles calmly; eerily similar to Doyle's take before he attacked Dean.

"Name?" Floyd questions her, with his arms folded.

" .go." Cornelia repeats her demand.

"Your name," Andrew said, with a growl. His face morphs into a vampire face.

"Co-c-cornelia Lase!" She finally said.

Floyd comes closer to Cornelia.

"Floyd, whatever you are thinking—" Andrew starts to say but Floyd morphs into his human form walking in front of her and begins talking.

"If ya want ta live, ya should join us givin' dah police department a nightmare." Floyd said, his eyes made Cornelia fearless. Those eyes are like those that belong to a man who knows his way around people. "It's an offer. If ya don't accept…ten ya dead."

"…I have to think about this." Cornelia softly said. Her body is trembling. She is afraid.

Andrew can smell fear coming from the small woman's body.

"Don't think too long." Andrew warns her. "Or else, I am drinking your blood."

**A/N If anyone wants to read a GOOD Doyle Fan Fic, I suggest ya take a look at the Returned:** _ Doyle returns...as a Big Bad. Can Angel find a way to fix this twisted version of his lost friend? What atrocities will Cordelia suffer in her attempts to bring back the man she loves? Set end of S-1 takes series on a new path Horror/Comedy/Action/Romance. **It is by Alisha Ashton.**_


	17. Two sides of a coin

A shadow is casted on the city street, tagging behind good 'Ol Jefferson. Jeffferson is on his nightly walk. He walks past several stores. But the fact that his friend Doyle had gotten into deep trouble with a killanobi didn't sit well with him. It made Jefferson burn more cigarettes in a day. _San Francisco, Jefferson_ flicks a cigarette to the side, _the city that shines._

He takes out his cigarette pack, opens it only to find there isn't any cigarettes left. _ Just my luck,_ Jefferson says words to himself that usually a child should not hear, _three days in this city. _He tosses the empty pack into a nearby trash can. _And_ _I am already out! _ At night a person would expect cars to be out zipping and zooming on the road; but there is only few cars doing that.

A street punk gets in Jefferson's way.

"Hey," The Street Punk said. A street light shows he has barely any hair on his head. He seems genuinely concerned. "Is your stalker instinct expired or something? 'Cause you are being followed."

A street light shows Jefferson grimace.

"No." Jefferson said. "But if you know what's a killanobi is, then you would know what's best for yourself."

Jefferson takes a turn around the Street Punk but the Street Punk grabs his shoulder.

"I'm part of the Street Watchers, and the way you said Killa Hobie makes me worried." The Street Punk tells him. His forehead becomes wrinkly. He has a strange tattoo on his neck. "I don't like it when that happens."

A streetlight shows The Street Punk is wearing a sleeveless hoody with a long sweater underneath it, he wore baggy jeans that have some rips in the seams at the knee's, he wore ear piercings that somewhat glit. Anyone in daylight could tell this streetpunk didn't have a care in the world to get a new pair of pants. He has an odd tattoo on the side of his neck.

Jefferson couldn't tell The Street Punk exactly why he is being followed out here. So the Street Punk invited him to do the explaining at his house; which is rent-controlled. The Street Punk made sure that they lost Dean on their tracks by doing something unconventional; getting into a large crowd. Dean did not expect that coming. Jefferson made it to The Street Punk's house without getting seen.

"What kind of spirits have you been angering?" The Street Punk opens a beer bottle as he sat in his seat. "By the way, Bridget, it's just an average man." He takes a sip from his beer. "Bridget's my girlfriend."

Jefferson is sitting in a red, old styled couch.

"Bobby, put your beer away!" Bridget came in; she has wild dirty blonde wild hair with a headband that didn't work. She slaps the Street Punk's hand and takes the beer bottle away. She marches to another room.

"Now_, that _is a strong woman." Jefferson said.

The Street Punk rubs his forehead.

"A couple of my friends have told me that a strange, demon-like sick dude has been stalking you…" The hair on Jefferson's neck rose up. "What kind of spirits have you been angering?" The Street Punk asks, putting his hands together.

Jefferson taps on the arm of the couch; as Bridget came back holding a coke.

"One; this doesn't involve spirits, Two; It's not me, and third; it's my friend who did it." Jefferson leans back into the couch. "I have this friend of mine; who is half demon." He is rubbing his hands together.

The Street Punk and his girlfriend are frightened.

"You are angering the spirits!" Bridget jumps to conclusions. "You should be ashamed of yourself; people get killed for doing dirty things like that."

Jefferson frowns.

"Not everything is black and white; some demons are friendly." Jefferson takes an un-open Pepsi and flips it open.

Bridget did not seem pleased to hear it.

"We've heard and learned what they do." Bridget said. "They are not welcome in our world."

Jefferson's hands ball up.

"These days Juvenile Demons give the reputation that demons have now in these false-vague-movies." Jefferson defends the image of Demons. "They make mistakes as everyone else does. They are not always mean. You are promoting that terrible image of demons. Now be ashamed of yourself."

The Street Punk takes Bridget's shoulder.

"Bridgy," The Street Punk said "You've gotten too far being Preachy."

"And what's with Preachy? I have not heard of it; is that something that's trending these days that nobody talks about?"

Bridget sighs.

"Bridget is very, very religious; last time we got kicked out a hockey game." The Street Punk said, letting go of her shoulder. He shook his head. "You don't want to know…"

Jefferson shrugs his shoulders.

"About your demon friend—" The Street Punk starts, but is interrupted by Jefferson.

"Half demon!" Jefferson corrects him, sharply.

"What about your…little half demon friend?" Bridget asks, grabbing The Street Punk's hand as he is becoming red. "Can he…you know…do possession?"

Jefferson shook his head, laughing.

"No." Jefferson then takes a drink from the Pepsi. He swallows his sip. "Doyle is half Brachen."

Bridget's grasp on The Street Punk's hand loosens.

"What's that?" The Street Punk asks.

"They are a real life version of Batman only with; superhuman abilities, green skin, spikes on their faces, and oh, red eyes." Jefferson has up four fingers. "Doyle can't possess a soul if he wanted to. "

Jefferson takes another sip from the pepsi.

"So what does your friend do that gets him into trouble?" The Street Punk asks.

"Doyle is an Irish man." Jefferson pauses, and then with a slight smile he said, "And Doyle does 'favors'…Believe it or not. He's a demon magnet."

"What's a Killa Hobie?"

The look in Jefferson's eyes became dark and settles.

"He's not the worst, not the top bad, not the meanest…" Jefferson puts the Pepsi on a table. Goosebumps go down his skin. He looks up towards the couple. "He's 270 years old, he tortures half-breeds to death, and he is a skilled hunter. You can compare him to a lion…"

The scene briefly shows Dean making his way towards The Street's Punk house.

"Because for reasons unknown; The Powers That Be made a demon almost like a lion." He taps on his palm. "People say they did this to make life more interesting. Or he was made for something good; but he…"

Jefferson shudders, shaking his head.

"You never want him on your tail. Not even when you are on the run from the law; you do not want to be a half breed demon. Not just because of The Scourge. But because of _him_."

Dean is stopped by a garbage truck.

"And he will kill you…slowly…and painfully if he is truly mad." Jefferson takes another drink from the Pepsi.

The Street Punk and Bridget are huddled together.

"He comes from Africa…or Australia." Jefferson finishes. "So I can safely assume that Doyle helped a family that Dean was terrorizing." Jefferson is a man of words. But sometimes he uses too much. He sighs. "And that Dean finally did what he should have done when a bounty came up for Doyle. That Bounty is pretty much gone now."

The Street Punk and Bridgett are sticking together.

"He may be feared; but I am not scared." Jefferson said.

The Street Punk rubs his hairy chin.

"Then why is he coming after you?" The Street Punk asks. "Why is he not going after Doyle?'

Jefferson looks down towards the floor.

"Doyle maybe a nice guy…" Jefferson cracks his knuckles. "But when you push him over the edge…"

Bridget puts her hands together.

"You are not answering the question." Bridget adds, as the two are not clinging together.

"He wants Doyle not to put a fight when they meet again." Jefferson said, and he sighs. "I know he can take care of himself…but this one…"Jefferson shook his head. "It's way too personal. This would only happen if Davis…"

Jefferson slaps the table.

The tattoo under Jefferson's lip is a spider. But he isn't wearing his ear piercings.

"So how close are you to Doyle?" The Street Punk asks.

Jefferson sighs, calming himself.

"He's my brother." Jefferson finally admits. "My full name is Jefferson Francis McCoy."

For a long time he had denied being Doyle's brother; he didn't sound Irish because of growing up in America. Mostly he grew up in New York away from Doyle. But Jefferson finally met Doyle some years ago. Jefferson was surprised to hear an actual Irish accent; all he heard of Irish was from stereotypical movies.

"Oooohhh."

Jefferson has a feeling Dean is coming.

"What's your name again?" Jefferson asks The Street Punk.

"Bobby."

"Bobby, can you buy a cigarette pack for me?"

** …Two hours later…**

** …Outside The Street Punk's apartment…**

"This is Bobby NewHeart 'The Street Punk', a survivor of the double murder." A reporter said, Lindy Heartz, right there at the time The Street Punk is going to make his statement. There were people waiting to hear what he has to say.

The camera turns towards The Street Punk with a conflicted and sad face.

"I cannot tell you how sad this makes me," The Street Punk said, holding crumbled up paper. If Television had been good back then for viewers perhaps everyone would have been able to see his tears. The Street Punk had to squeeze his eyes for a minute or two, just so he wouldn't get a red eye from this terrible ordeal. "And how I cannot aide this investigation…."

**F—f-flas lfash**

**Snap snap**

Pictures were being taken of him whether they would be scrutinized or not.

These days words can be twisted into different meaning; they always go for the boyfriend.

"They will not believe me, no one. Except; for those who knew what I am talking about." The Street Punk said. "I am so grateful this man had told me buy him another pack of cigarettes. I wouldn't be standing here if I hadn't ta-t-taken….taken the back door."

This wasn't the right time to make a statement. But The Street Punk had to make his story clear. So no one would assume he did the murders in cold blood. _I will make a better picture of Demons around this city. _The Street Punk looks upwards at the starlit sky_. I will show you two; Bridget and Jefferson. Mark my words!_ The snapping and clicking from Camera's brought him back to reality.

"Who did it?" A male reporter asks.

The Street Punk looks towards a reporter.

"I'm sorry; but I can't tell you." The Street Punk tries answering the questions he could.

Even one that might be useful.

"Do you have anything to tell us?"

The Street Punk closes his eyes for a moment there and then they reopened the next moment.

"If you are watching this….Man, this is hard knowing this ruthless-centuries old—creep is coming after those close to you…" The Street Punk said. He clears his throat. "God help you."


	18. Well

Wesley calls The Window Replacement Company. Well...Why? If a person asks in the first place in the beginning then the story wouldn't come to play. Anyway, Wesley leans back in the chair tapping a black pen lightly on a mouse pad. There are some windows visibly broken across from Wesley, however, the blinds made it convincing there is indeed mouse pad that he was tapping on wasn't his. Nor was it Cordelia's,Doyle's, or Angel's mouse pad. It was somebody's...but no one really knew who it belonged to.

"Hello, This is the Window Replacement Company." Griffen Harvey, an employee of the Window replacement company, answers.

"Do you have tough windows?" Wesley asks. "Because the last ones were not...'right'."

Griffen rubs his forehead.

"OH MY GOD" Griffen said, his voice raising. Griffen puts his left hand on his desk table. "This is the fifth time you've called this month!"

Wesley laughs.

"We have a good reason."

Griffen doesn't appear to be happy on the other end.

"To break every window?"

"Not every window."

"...I mean it's a good way to profit over breaking every window; but man," Griffen's fast paced typing is heard over the phone. "We can't come up with the quality you have destroyed if you keep this up." He jokingly adds, "If you keep looking at those windows...there's gonna be more than 7 years of bad luck."

Wesley puts down the pen.

"Well.." Wesley decides to explain why the windows keep breaking them. "Ever heard of demons and Vampires?"

Griffen spits out what he was drinking (He was drinking cofee) that had a bad reaction to the keyboard

"Of course!" Griffen defensively said, standing up from his desk. "Just myths-AH HELL not again!" He lowers the phone. "Um...I need a new keyboard."

**C-s-aackn**

"They live among us, more so the demons than the Vampires..." Wesley continues. "You won't believe me; but this is what has been breaking our windows..."

_A few days ago; they had recently replaced the window for the 2nd time. Angel didn't see the point in having glass windows. Cordelia, Doyle, and Wesley all saw that having windows was essential to a business. Some people out there obsses over windows and judge them to determine: If they should go in the building or not. _

_ "Oh look." Wesley walked into Angel Investigations holding a multi-colored envelope. It had childish drawings on the front even scribbled words of 'Deemunic' which was barely recognize-able except for the e's,m's, and c's. "Guess who's mail I got instead."  
_

_ "Dah cat lady next door."_

_ Wesley shook his head._

_"No."_

_"Ten who?"_

_ Wesley hands it to Doyle.  
_

_ "Yours."_

Griffen is back in his seat, not following what Wesley's trying to say.

"So you got who's mail?" Griffen is finding it hard to believe; His head tilts as he asks.

"Doyle."

"Arthur Conan Doyle; the guy who wrote Sherlock Holmes and his assistant John Watson?"

"No..I have a friend named Doyle-who's not a natural detective as Sherlock." Wesley rolled an eye. He gets up looking at the dangling, row-aligned blinds. "He's half demon. A good one. And gets visions from The Powers That really Don't care."

"I don't follow."

"Oh you will."

"I am in Bollywood; doesn't mean I get what you Americans talk about!"

Wesley makes a comment on Griffen's skepticism.

"Like your UFO'S, Gigantic-car transforming robots, G.I. Joes, and the word 'WEATHER!"

Jeez, Wesley is never going to get this done if he goes on like this. So he decides to do the least and very annoying thing; he jumped from event to event, leaving Griffen more lost than he had been before. A man can wonder how a person like Wesley could do this kind of stuff to a caller.

_ "As a demon, take dah door out," Doyle pointed to the door, in a foul mood._

_ The Demon sneered at him._

_ "Screw you!" The Demon then jumped out the other window._

Griffen frowns.

"Demon, what, who,why?" Griffen asks, finding himself not doing his job. He raises a finger up when a co-worker asks why it's taking so long on one call.

_Doyle opens the letter, which he reads with a smile._

_"He's learnin' how ta spell right." Doyle said, "Dah last letter had horrible writin'. At least it's gotten better tan a ten year old."_

_ "Is he really ten?"_

_ Doyle didn't raise an eyebrow at him._

_ "He's eleven. I checked his birth certificate ta help Paul enroll Demonic inta school. Hacking inta dah hospital records was a bit harder tan usual."_

_"Doyle, you hacked into the hospital records! You could have asked them polietly."_

_ "If I asked; tey would have gotten suspicious." Doyle's eyes got slightly big at one point in the letter. "So I took dah easy way." Doyle looks away from the letter to Wesley. "Jeez, Paul's got a demon who uses bad words like a sailor... Dat's a little bit...odd."_

_ Then some demon jumps through the window and lands in the area between the desks. Angel was asleep downstairs (He had a really rough night) in his room. Cordelia was getting her scenes filmed for Law & Order episode 9 'Villain'. Wesley grabbed a stake that had been strapped to a holster. Doyle didn't go into demon form._

_ "I want that head."_

_Doyle and Wesley didn't have a clue._

_ "What head?"_

_ "The small, old, miniture human head!" The Demon storms. "I want it back."  
_

_There's a brief moment of awkward silence._

_ "Angel doesn't...collect heads." Wesley said._

_ "Nor do we."_

_"So you got some bad info."_

_"Hell I did!" The Demon roars. "I need it for the rite of passage; I don't get it. I ain't a man! Do you know what this means?"_

_ Doyle shrugs._

_ "I'm sorry. But whatever head ya lookin' for isn't in our possession."_

_ "It's a cave man european hybreed head, how can you not have it?"_

_"We are not a meuseum." Doyle and Wesley say at once._

_The demon is furious at them._

_ "I'm not in a good mood, right now." Doyle said. "But ask somebody else. Do ya want ta pay for dis?"_

_"No."_

_ "As a demon, take dah door out," Doyle pointed to the door, in a foul mood._

_ The Demon sneered at him._

_ "Screw you!" The Demon then jumped out the other window._

Griffen sat there, slack jawed and puzzled by this wild story that Wesley is telling.

"We've been visited by a drunk Demon for a week." Wesley admitted. He decided to try his luck on this impressionable, young sounding man on the other line."That's a...bigger threat than a drunken man. Know any good glass window agencies that deal with magic?"


	19. Know about the boogeyman?

**_30 to 50 Years prior…_**

_Marx Hucker, a Boogie-demon, was running for his life**.** He was scared more than he had ever been in his entire career. Yes, Boogie-Demons were required to call their little hobby a job since it kept them alive and thriving. Marx Hucker, on the other hand, is half demon and didn't need fear to live by. Adrenaline was running through his veins._

_It wasn't dandy to be fetched out by humans and ordered never to return. He came back. His large, adapted but unusually fast beating heart is connected to a smaller heart. Those two hearts made him live for centuries. To be exact Marx has the physical resemblance to Harrison Ford with graying hair; He look like that way for the rest of his life. Well….For many lifetimes. Marx's demon form first kicked in at his daughter's graduation ceremony._

_ Boy, this was really different. _

_ Nobody had forced him to run this far._

_"Run," A voice that scared Marx the most came down a hall. "Run, you Boogie-demon!"_

_ Far in the dark hall….Marx's black, slippery dance shoes sent him skating through this hall. _

_Marx had to keep going. _

_No matter what pain he was in._

_The sheer pain from missing an arm to the elbow stung Marx greatly. His formerly white tuxedo had been ripped and stained, his black and white tie hangs loose around his neck, his shirt is unbuttoned. His gray skin is sweaty while covered by some liquid people would faint at the sight of. Marx looks over seeing a figure not far behind him. Hard to believe the boogie demon business turned against him. Wasn't he just a rookie in the 'Demons who use bed portals' a day ago?_

_Light was his hope. _

**...1999…**

**…Los Angeles…**

The scene begins in a room that almost resembles a nerd collector's room. To be truthful that's a child's room. In this room is cubby's that have some cowboy toys in buckets such as Woody, G.I. Joe action figures on the nightstand, a blanket that has a picture of Generation 1 Optimus Prime on the bed, underneath the blanket is rocket bed sheets, and a toy box at the back that hasn't been closed. One can assume this belongs to a ten year old (Who's in the bed). We flick off the light.

In fact, this dark and not well lit room does belong to a ten year old…girl.

This ten year old girl is Christopher Cherriet.

**T-t-tick-tick tick **goes Christopher's clock on the nightstand beside her bed.

"Wakey,wakey." The voice sang.

It wasn't coming from the closet or her door.

Goosebumps go up Christopher's elbow.

"Chriisssy," This creepy, odd sudden voice is coming from her bed! "I'm hunnnngrryyy for a baaaad child."

Christopher turns on her nightlamp that is right beside the bed on a nightstand.

"Boo."

The face Christopher saw was scary. This was a demon with marble-like eyes, pale-ghost like skin (Not transparent, but incredibly white), this individual-like demon has dark curly hair, two curly horns on his forehead, black scale-like marks right beside his eyes, and had a chin that is odd for a human,. He looked down right if not scary to Christopher. His very face registered 'bad guy' inside her brain.

Christopher screams, as she turned off the night light.

In the dark, not well lit room no one could see what Christopher did next. When it's dark in a room without light and your ears are high alert, your eyes play tricks on you. They make you believe there are shapes moving in the sightless room when really there isn't. When you can't see; you hear Christopher's high pitched, frightened scream.

**T-h-thump**

Christopher's feet are heard landing on the floor.

"Moommmy!" Christopher screams.

**c—cc-reaaak**

We see light come in as presume-bly the door is opened. Christopher's not-so-tall figure is seen running down the wooden hall (That's connected to a staircase) across from her bedroom. The eyes of an unusual, orange marble-like eye is seen from under her bed. These strange pair of eyes turns right as though the one who scared her is shaking his head. These pair of eyes is gone in a blink.

"Mommy, Daddyy!" Christopher gets in between her parents in their bed (Who were just waking up from her screaming).

"What's scared my baby girl?" Her daddy, Mr. Albert Cherriet, asks as he turns the light on.

"M-m-m-m-m-monster ...under… bed." Christopher trembles.

"It's all right," Her mother, Brenda Cherriet, said as she is sitting upright on the bed. "It's only a nightmare."

Christopher's breath is shaky, as is her hands.

"It-t-it wasn't a night—nigh-nightmare, Mommy."

looks concerned, feeling his daughter's shaky hands.

"Maybe it was your imaginary friend Marci." suggests, facing toward her shaky daughter.

"Mommy, Marci is my imaginary friend." Christopher reminds her mother.

"Honey." said, taking his hand off Christopher's right arm. "She's shaking like a leaf. An imaginary friend wouldn't do that to her."

"Nor a ghost," glares at her husband.

"Nor a cat." Christopher adds, as she wraps both hands around her legs.

steps out of bed and puts on his pink slippers.

"But a Boogie demon would!" said, grabbing a bat that was hanging above their bed.

Christopher became still, her small and innocent-child eyes are filled in horror.

"Albert—" starts to say.

"This is the 4th time this week!" interrupts her, as he goes to the door.

"She's just a child." tells him.

pauses at the door, slightly turning their way.

"She's too young to know whatthey _are_." adds, her arms wrapped around Christopher.

Christopher could see her dad's eyes were not just filled of wonder or joy, but also by secrets.

"Boogie demons don't make you tremble like a leaf, Brenda. They give you a good scare. Not this."

Christopher had not seen her dad act this way towards mom before. It was unusual; he never took the bat off the wall. She always assumed it was for saving the day in a far off kingdom. She tried getting it off the wall one time. But it was much like King Arthur's sword in the boulder. It wouldn't budge an inch.

There wasn't any one talking for a few minutes there.

"Baby girl; you know about the boogeyman?" ended the long silence.

Christopher manages to nod.

"He's real; but not all demons are awful. I actually had fun planning…" laughs, shaking his head back and forth. Her dad's cool, easy-going personality made it seem all right. As though nothing bad is going to happen and that everything okay. "I had fun planning how to prank a boogie-demon back when I was your age."

He had something else to say.

Christopher could tell he had something else to reveal; just by his eyes.

"And your mother…"

"Albert, don't you dare say what I think you are going to say!"

"...had tea parties with them."

"Now, I'm going to teach that trash a lesson." said, while lightly tapping in the middle of his palm using the bat. "A new Boogie-demon; remember last month, when all you did was laugh at that adorable-furry man from your closet?"

Christopher smiles at the memory.

"He had a good sense of humor." Christopher recalls, being not scared as she was before. She is calming down. Perhaps knowing her father is taking of this could be reassuring her. "He snorted like an elephant."

Christopher giggles. She is relaxed and not scared.

"Whatever happened to him?" Christopher asks, looking up towards 's direction.

The parents share a grave look.

"..Let's just say he's in a better place." said, in a low voice.

looks towards Christopher's open room.

"My gut has a bad feeling about this boogie-demon." acknowledged, and then he clears his throat. "When I go into the room; go downstairs, turn the lights on,...and just…wait for me."

"Okay Daddy," is unable to speak, as Christopher grabs her hand. "I'll be mommy's watch out!"

smiles, and says, "I know you will, my baby girl."

"Albert, please." finally manages to speak before he steps out the door. "…don't go."

"Love you girls, I'll see you later," And then he adds. "And…hang on to your mom's hands, tightly."

went towards Christopher's room knowing what kind of trouble he's getting into. In a way his own life flashed in his eyes from child hood, pulling pranks on Boogie Demons, to meeting his wife at camp as a teen, pulling stunts with toilet paper, graduating high school, getting a job, getting married and having his baby girl Christopher Charriet.

_The scene transitions to five years ago; watches his daughter sleeping in her bed with toys all around her._

His present steps come closer to the door.

_Past closes the door and so the nightlights in her room remained on; except for a slithering, odd darkness coming from her bed. It was a strange boogie demon but he had horns on his knuckles. His eyes were similar to buttons (Or be truthful they were a light gray), The boogie demon stood over little sleeping Christopher._

_Christopher's little eyes open, she giggles while waving a hand at him. _

_"h-H-HI." Little Christopher holds up a Barbie. _

_The boogie demon didn't reply._

_"HI." Little Christopher repeats, as she stood up on both feet. She raises a hand out. "Christa-fur. Yours?"_

_The boogie Demon takes a step back._

_ "Yours." Little Christopher repeats, pouting. She points at the demon, annoyed and irritated._

_The Boogie Demon took a step forward into the night-light._

_"WEEEE!" Little Christopher hops in her bed. "Weeee!"_

_Past opens the door (The boogie demon went into the closet)._

_ "Go to sleep, Christopher." _

_Little Christopher fell back into her bed, pouting._

He all forgot about Boogie Demons. Until Christopher, when she was older, talked about these 'strange' people that came from her closet and under her bed.

"Just you and me…" said, closing the door behind him. "You don't scare me! But…you scare my baby girl. Now you are getting the horns!"

The screen fades to black.

* * *

** 14 minutes later…**

"Ya know about Boogie Demons, Angel?" Doyle asks, as he drives Angel's car.

The wheels on Angel's car are burning smoke. Well…that is a bit unusual. It's a bit unusual that Doyle is the driver, not Angel. There might be a logical explanation for that. Doyle's vision for the Charriet family came in when they were doing illegal underground racing. The guys, whom they did this with, didn't know Doyle and Angel were not exactly human.

"You talking about the Boogey man, sure, I've heard of him."

"No Angel,I mean...Didn't ya dad tell stories to not get ya stay up late?"

"No."

"Cats ten, familiar with tem? Good ten, now imagine tem under ya bed. Now imagine ya get scared by tem. And they feed off your fear." Doyle explains to Angel. "Tese kind of demons out tere are called Boogie demons; tey are basically dah cat from my example. They mostly do their targeting by portal in dah closet or under dah bed at night."

Angel raises an eyebrow at Doyle.

"Under the bed?"

"Yeah."

"Since when?..."

Angel's eyebrow goes down.

"Since dah time beds were made." Doyle said, parking into an empty parking lot to the Charriet house. Doyle turns the vehicle off leaving the keys in the ignition.

MrsCherriet's scream draws their attention towards a window.


	20. So many questions, so little answers

Kate looks to the files.

"Natalie Harry Darren." Kate glances back to Jefferson's file.

She grabs a couple other files, taking out the victims pictures and putting them in a circle on her wooden desk. _Natalie, found dead from Jefferson's house. Her 5 year old son in the closet with two Chuskys_ _protecting him._She didn't have any cases to keep her off this sorry piece of case. Detective Kate puts the last, familiar picture in the middle._They were killed on different days, time, and...evenly spaced out._ The traffic going on around in the station is largely un-notice-able to her. _ They were killed without mercy. _

Kate puts the crime-scene photos under the victims picture; about 14 people or so.

"And they are connected to..." Kate leans back in her seat. "Doyle."

She folds her arms,_He told me to back off the case. _

But why?

Why would Doyle warn her to back off?

"D-d-Detective Lockley." A police officer, Lewis Hammer, stutters as he stand in front her desk.

Kate looks up

"What is it..." She waves her right hand. "Your name starts with a 'L' right?"

Lewis nods.

"Okay, L, go on." She folds her arms.

"B-b-boss-boss doesn't want you to get any more deeper into this case." Lewis stutters.

"It's my case," Kate said. "It's been mine since the beginning."

"Uh...It's in the FBI's justification, now." Lewis add. "I should realll-yllyy g-g-go get some donuts. Bye."

Kate looks down to Doyle's photograph.

"He knows something." Kate told herself. _And I will get to the bottom of this. _


	21. BDC slayer

Since Mrs Cherriet's husband is dead, it's probably a good idea to call her Brenda. Christopher was ordered to stay downstairs even when her mother screamed. Brenda is , just the same person called by her first name. Outside the big house there are some flowers. These flowers are growing around the red and white Cherriet mail box.

"I wonder how dat happened," Doyle remarks as he eyes the red tulips, while heading towards the door. "With dah red tulips."

The Cherriet Mail box resembles the Mayflower.

"Usually they don't grow around mail boxes…" Angel said; as he smelled 'death' just a few feet away from the door. The stench, in vampire senses, was hard to go through. Humans were lucky to not have super-smell.

_This is the right house,_ Angel decides.

Doyle's vision smelt like 'Dah stench of death lingerin' around'. Doyle could smell, fear, hear, and see in these visions just like a regular Psychic would…Except he's half demon. And that he was chosen for this gift. Doyle knocks on the door first. Brenda opened the door pretty upset. However that didn't stop them from getting a way into the house through her.

Angel covers his nose, entering the house.

Brenda let Doyle and Angel in, under the assumption they are police officers.

"I'm so glad that you came!" Brenda said, closing the door behind them.

"Mommy, where is Daddy?" Christopher stands at the doorway to the living room. She has this child-like innocent emanating from her.

"He's…" Brenda wipes off a tear. She then told her daughter to go back into the living room.

Brenda, Angel, and Doyle went upstairs to 'Check out the crime scene' and 'see what they are dealing with'. Doyle found it pleasant he couldn't smell what Angel smells. All the lights were on, not even the bathroom lights are off. The skeleton with clothes on is partially in view to Christopher's room.

"Yer husband went to beat up a boogie demon?" Doyle asks Brenda.

Brenda turns her head towards Doyle, as she is standing on the 1st step on the staircase right across from Christopher's room.

"What…did…you say…" Brenda's left eye twitches.

Angel comes out the room carrying a baseball bat. This Baseball bat looks as though someone had brought an attack dog and told them to brutally attack it. It's really chewed up. Nevertheless Angel is still able to hold it by the intact handle.

"My friend is a Psychic," Angel said, balancing the tip of the chewed up baseball bat on the wooden floor. "We are not the police. But what I _can _tell you is that we can help."

"I am 100% sure as I am going to kick you out and call the real police!" Brenda said. "And then they—"

"Tey won't believe ya." Doyle interrupts her, holding a black ball with a 'v' shaped white object at the top. He looks away from it to her. "Tey will suspect dat ya killed him; keepin' the body hidden until today and called in just ta make it seem dat ya didn't do it."

Doyle shook his head.

"Do ya really want ta be separated from ya daughter over somethin' dat could have been prevented by us?" Doyle asks her.

The scene transfers to The Law and Order studio where filming is going on. Cordelia is in a cozy apartment set. It was good for a change to be out from the supernatural business. Getting sick last week wasn't one of Cordelia's priorities, but getting a role that could plausibly get her into Hollywood did matter. It meant cash for a while until the next audition or the next case, for that matter.

James Secrez and Louis Amsterdam were portraying these old-fashioned detectives asking Cordelia questions.

"D—Doyle." Cordelia said.

"Doyle Darren?" Secrez asks. His right eye is bigger than the left eye. "Are you sure it isn't Flenn Darren…"

_Cordelia, you did it again, _Cordelia thought realizing her mistake as Secrez and James improvise,_ you just slipped his name in. _They could always remove certain scenes in editing or just refilm it, again for the twenty-third time. The Director, Charles Goodwin, had made it clear there would not be any more reshoots for episode 9.

"Ah," Cordelia shook her head. "Flint loved reading what Conan Doyle wrote. That's why I got the mix-up." She laughs at her mistake. Her hair is up in a pigtail for this character who's a roommate of Flenn Darren. "His name is not Doyle Darren."

"Flint?" The men say at once.

"Flenn Flint Darren." Cordelia said, and then she nods convincingly. She points down to Louis's notepad. "Write it down. "

"I thought it was Lewis." Louis said, writing down what she was saying on a notebook.

'He lied." Cordelia said, tapping her fingers on the couch. "He might be a bad guy, but…that doesn't mean Doyle—"She shook her head. "Doesn't mean Flenn is a killer."

Louis and Secrez raise eyebrows.

"You do realize that he's dead?..." Louis asks, looking at her strangely.

The director is flipping through the script.

"Yes," Cordelia said, taking a calm and eerily proud position.

The men look at her, even more strangely.

"He's staring at your back." Cordelia finishes, wiggling her eyebrows.

* * *

The scene transfers to a bar, a bar called Mercy. Doyle just entered the bar. A Bar that is for Demons to sing their troubles or ask for help by a demon called Lorne. Lorne is able to read others by hearing them sing. That way he can see their problems, troubles, and...So on. The vision also had shown him an image of Marx at this bar.

"You must be Doyle." Marx said, holding his drink.

Doyle sat beside him, unsure how Marx knew he was coming. Doyle knew his face just by the vision (that came during the illegal underground race).

"How do ya know?"

Marx shook his head, laughing at him.

"They told me, I quote, 'A man will come to you one day, asking for help,' and…" Marx quotes the Powers. "It's a little fuzzy, but I do remember they said 'and he will be Doyle.' Didn't get what it meant…until you came."

Marx can sense Doyle's fear.

It wasn't about Marx himself, it was fear for another person; someone else in Doyle's life.

"And my answer is no." Marx said, flat out.

"Who's tey?"

Marx takes a drink from his glass then puts it on the table.

"Those guys up there," Marx points up towards the ceiling. "Who hate demons." Marx grunts. "There is a lot of irony, contradiction, and hypocritical when they have half-breeds do things for them."

Doyle looks over his shoulder, slightly wary.

"Ya mean dah Powers dat be?"

"Yes,"

"What did ya do for tem?"

"It's what they did for me; I didn't do anything. But they sure did."

Doyle sighs.

Another Demon takes the opportunity to sing karaoke, but a little better than the previous singer. Some demons are heard clapping and some hooted. We see Lorne is talking to the previous singer about the problems he detected in his singing (Might as well be giving advice). Demons that came for sanctuary are enjoying the music.

"Did tey specify what kind of help I would come for?"

"Not really."

Doyle sneezes.

"Woah," Marx exclaims. "You are a leckochen!"

"I find dat offensive." Doyle said, as he orders a drink. "I'm half Brachen. And yes, I want a drink. But not dah kind dat…"

Marx saw a problem with Doyle's change-into-demon sneeze.

"Someday…you will be in a store, and when you sneeze…They will see you." Marx shook his replaced wooden finger at Doyle. "-In your demon form; you are screwed to hell, Doyle. They will shoot you. Humans are more so scared of demons than monsters these days."

Doyle frowns, morphing back to his human form.

"Ya don't say."

Marx puts down his hand, sighing.

"I mean when there are more of them…" Marx explains, looking over his shoulder. Just briefly to see who is doing the singing. He takes another drink from his glass. "When they have guns, they do not know you, and are familiar to the television set that promotes stereotypical demons."

"I can control my demon form."

"That's what we all think, Doyle…until we make the biggest mistake of the century."

"Not like tere's goin' be a demon wall blocked because tey see us."

Marx grunts.

"You'll be surprised." Marx said, taking a drink from his unfinished glass. "You should stop trying to get me into helping you. Because it won't work, I retired twenty two years ago…A former Boogie Demon doesn't help Brachens."

Doyle's eyebrows hunch together for a moment and depart from one another.

"What's yer name again?"

"Marx."

"Marx, I know ya are not just a retired boogie Demon…Ya are a retired BDC Slayer." Doyle said, as Marx's skin is turning white. BDC slayer means A Boogie Demon Cannibal Slayer. "Dah Powers sent me a vision about ya; vaguely…"

"You don't need my help." Marx said,

"Yes, we do." Doyle taps on the table on every single word. "Dis kid, Christopher Cherriet, lost her dad ta a BDC. Ya dah only retired BDC slayer who's left."

BDC meant Boogie Demon Cannibal.

Marx's hands almost go stiff.

"How can you be sure it was a BDC?" Marx asks, in a voice that's not friendly.

"Someone jumped inta Christopher's room…" Doyle explains. "Broke a bunch of lights, he fought Angel, who ten subdued him…in dat tree minutes, it was dark…And Angel came tumblin' out a second later," Doyle shudders. "But dat scream..."

Doyle shook his head,

"I have ta live with dat scream for dah rest of my life." Doyle closes his eyes for a moment, and then he reopens them. "Christopher's mom turned dah emergency lights on in her room." He gulps. "The next thin' we saw was a second clean, white skeleton stickin' out from under dah bed. Dat's how sure we are."

Marx's eyes were a-blazed.

"I know that name 'Angel' like the back of my palm." Angel's reputation wasn't as 'good' or up to date in the demon world. "What kind of dirty business are you in?"

"It's not a business. It's a Private Investigation agency."

"When I hear that name, it doesn't sound that way."

"We help dah helpless," Doyle takes out the Angel Investigations card. Doyle wrote on the back of it and he puts it on the table then slid it towards Marx. "And Angel has a soul."

Marx picks up the card.

"A Demon Hunter is not advanced as BDC Slayers, dats why we haven't told our Demon hunter friend."

Marx looks away from the card.

"Almost have a great team, except for getting into things you shouldn't meddle in." Marx comments, and then he takes a sip from his glass. He puts it back down, folded his arms, and asks, "Why don't you run away?"

Doyle is startled.

"I'm sorry?"

Doyle puts his arm in front of himself on the bar counter.

"I can tell that you are scared." Marx tells him, his split-lizard eyes blink.

The Bartender puts a glass in front of Doyle.

Being half Boogie Demon left Marx capable to tell when someone is scared. He is also feeding off it…in a way. It felt like he is eating lunch. This fear coming from Doyle is usually one that pursuits a man to leave the city. Usually that's when said man has someone tailing him.

In reality Doyle does not have anyone tailing him, however, this person might be doing something making it seem that way.

"I made a promise," Doyle said, with a small smile. _I should really get my information_ _legit about these Boogie Demons. Well…It's more like a favor. Not a promise. _ "And dats what keeps me from runnin' away."

"Getting out of the business is hard," He looks back towards Doyle. Marx's split-like lizard eyes blink two times. They show a demon that's been through it all from beginning to end.

"So getting' out the business is yer excuse for not helpin'?" Doyle asks, and then he takes a sip from the glass.

Doyle spits back into the glass.

"What was I thinkin'?" Doyle mutters, putting the glass down on the counter. "Dis is too sour."

"It's not that easy…" Marx briefly closes his eyes for a moment. "…living that kind of life..."

Doyle can tell by Marx's physical body language that wasn't why.

"Ya should be good at lyin' if ya been around dis long." Doyle said, leaning away from the counter.

Marx glares at him

"My daughter never wanted to see me again after I turned. I couldn't go back. I didn't have a family anymore."

"Didn't she throw cake at ya?"

"It wasn't cake; it was a trophy."

Marx drinks from his glass.

"I thought graduation ceremonies didn't have trophy's durin' dah event…." Doyle shook his head, as Marx put down his drink.

If a liar could be in here… then there would be several; like Doyle is in this way. A liar knows when someone is lying. There is a brief pause in their conversation, as the singing going on from behind them gets slightly better to end on a high note. The current singer stops, and bows as other demons clap.

"But dat isn't why ya left." Doyle ends the silence.

Marx lost his appetite for drinking.

"Yes, yes it is."

"Ya were beaten in yer own game!"

Marx's hands tremble visibly.

"You are freezing." Marx snaps, pushing forward his empty drink. He meant that Doyle is wrong. "Who's important to you in life?"

"Dah most important thin' ta me is tose close ta me; family and friends." Doyle said.

"Imagine not having them to be there for comfort." Marx said, getting up from the seat. He puts a bill on the counter .

Marx exits the bar.

Lorne, the owner of the Mercy Bar, came by.

"What kind of problem were you having here?" Lorne asks.

"No problems."

Lorne sat in Marx's empty seat.

"From the tone of voices I heard; I don't think so." Lorne said, reaching his hand out. "I'm Lorne, owner of this bar, who are you?"

Doyle and Lorne's chat eventually gets around the singing topic.

"I can't sin'…No I can't." Doyle denies.

"Yes, you can." Lorne said, in a confident and assured voice.

Doyle finds himself in a locked, but easily win-win situation.

"Tere's really no argurin' with ya."

Lorne nods.

"Yes."

Doyle ended up singing. So much that Lorne easily faints from listening to him because he is so good. When awakened after Doyle leaves, he decides to drink what Doyle hadn't finished drinking. Lorne spits it back in the glass.

"Whose idea was to add Sour drinks on the menu?" Lorne asks, holding the unfinished drink up. He is mad that this had gotten added without his knowledge. "Booob!"


	22. Sometimes doing something bad pays with

The scene shows Floyd and Cornelia hiding in a huge, dusty vent as officers are running after Andrew. Floyd leans against the wall, grumbling. He grumbles about their foiled plan to actually get in and get out without getting seen. Cornelia smacks Floyd's shoulder. The Lekochen rubs his shoulder, making a rude remark.

"It wasn't me who convinced Andy ta bring ya in ta dis." Floyd makes an excuse, in his lowest voice possible.

Cornelia folds her arms on top her knee's as she is sitting down beside him.

"Oh, how about the time you used me as bait?" Cornelia asks, her eyes are like daggers to him. But they are full of promised words and not-so-forgiving vibe comes off from this appearance.

Floyd laughs, looking away from Cornelia and looks towards the exit that's being guarded by two men.

"Dat was tree days ago." Floyd argues in a whisper. "Seesh." He rolls an eye. "Let it go, Niel."

The two men are walking back and forth in front the entrance.

"No." Cornelia whispers back, argumentatively. "I could be grieving my grandmother's death, but noooo," She waves her hands. "I'm right here." She throws her hands up. "Hiding from the officials!"

Floyd makes a face at her.

"And you," She jabs at his chest. "Saw potential in me!"

"Hey, don't do dat too hard." Floyd raises his voice.

The officer's attention is shifted towards the vent.

"…This is why I'm going to work alone." Cornelia pouts, in a whisper as the officer's aim at the vent.

"Cool yer jets." Floyd reassures her, grabbing a weapon. He flashes a smile at her, confident and so cool as though nothing bad will happen. He voluntarily morphs into his Leckochen form without arguing. He taps the weapon on his shoulder. "Just follow my lead."

Sometimes people argue about the word Leckochen and Lekochen, some argue 'Same thing'...Which mostly is what Floyd says.

* * *

At least four days passed since The Boogie Demon Cannibal incident. Doyle put a box under his bed that wouldn't let anything come in. Angel had his closet locked. Angel's bed (For now on) has lots of boxes under it. Doyle had learned something had…well…gotten interfered by Hyle, the Copy-Cat Demon. Doyle took the news rather hard; but Angel let him do whatever he wanted.

Because if Angel had anyone he actually cared about and they were family; he would go.

The news is: The Copy Cat Demon had helped Dean track down Doyle's relatives.

"Geez…" Hyle said, looking around the room. "Bad paintjob."

The curtains behind Hyle are closed.

"Hey D-d—Doyle!" Hyle stutters, unsure how to greet him.

Doyle keeps the door open.

"Ya," he points at him. "Shut up."

Those were the word that a person wouldn't hear from Doyle. Not unless you did...something unforgiveable.

"Ya helped a Killanobi."

Hyle shrugs.

"So what about him?" Hyle asks, not seeing this as a problem for himself.

Doyle's eyes have an 'upset' emotion shaking inside.

"Ya helped him track down a…" Doyle picks up a black device. His anger is obvious. It felt any moment Doyle could slip into his demon form. "A toddler."

"Dearing what's right to keep ya alpive gets risky." Hyle said, with a shrug and in his stereotypical voice.

If Wesley was here, he would be scooting out the room quicker than you could say 'Life of pi'

"Ya…Yer heartless." Doyle said, taking off his jacket. He puts the black device on his jacket.

Doyle went into his demon form, voluntarily as the door shuts behind him.

"It's called alpving."

Our perspective goes outside the room; where we hear punching, the sound of Hyle's high pitch scream, and a body tumble in fifteen minutes. The door opens by a dirty hand. Doyle uses a rag to clean his hand off. He didn't have a bruise or anything on him. His shirt wasn't dirty from beating up Hyle, that's for sure. Hyle wipes the corner of his mouth.

"So, why am I heer?" Hyle asks, pushing himself up.

_ I am really scared. _Hyle thought trying to figure out what he feels scared about him. He never felt scared about someone. Hadn't he sent some demons after Doyle? Hadn't he helped Dean? _Why am I scared of a half-breed? Why? Even though he…just…beat me up. _

Doyle walks around the room.

"I already told ya." Doyle reminds him, picking up the black device.

Hyle froze.

"Ya helped him hunt down a toddler." Doyle said, in a voice that made what Hyle did just sound extremely wrong. "And ya know what…"

Hyle glances towards the blinds.

"I'll rather see ya as a pile of dust!" Doyle goes to the doorway.

"What, no, what,no," Hyle didn't know what to say. "What are you dwoing?"

Doyle has the black device, as he stood at the doorway.

"Doin' a favour." Doyle said, putting a finger on the red button.

He clicks the red button.

**C—cclick**

The sunlight lands on Hyle.

"AHHHH!" Hyle shrieks, as he bursts into flames.

Doyle turns away, and then he walks down the hallway as Hyle screams.

"SOMEONE HELP PLEASE HELP!"

People who were staying there came by, watching in horror the boy being killed by the sunlight. Hyle screams slowly faded from the hall as the sunlight disintegrated him into dust. Women who had seen this were screaming, panicking. Doyle knew if anyone cared about this boy they probably would be glad he was put out of his misery. A boy like that shouldn't be living the dream, when he helped a demon murder countless people. If anyone like Hyle (With bad intentions) came into Doyle's life...they would be gone. They would be dead or soon to be.


	23. I'm one of dah good ones!

The scene begins in an old house; inside a living room. There aren't any mirrors around. Angel sat on a dark couch. Doyle had a vision recently, but, whatever he had seen hadn't happened yet. There wasn't a smashed window, flipped chairs, curled wallpaper, or a dead body. It made Angel wonder if he was in the right house.

It's actually daylight outside so one can believe Angel used the underground sewers (as usual) to get here.

The nice woman (Who owns the house), Beckett Rivers, came into the living room holding a sheet of paper.

"Hello Angel," Beckett reaches her hand out. "I've heard so much about you."

Angel shook her hand.

"How do you know?" Angel asks, as their handshake ended.

Beckett turns away from Angel and went to the bar-counter that was built into the side of the living room.

"I have a friend who's in the acting business." Beckett explains, as she fills up a glass with wine. She takes a depressing pill. Beckett took a sip from the glass gulping down her depressing pill.

She puts the paper on the counter, making a face from the wine.

"Carrie…No…Cordy!" Beckett waves her hand. She shook her Head. "Oh ,no, thats Cordelia." SHE nervously laughs, saying "I never met a bright, bubbly woman like her."

"She keeps up that up for her auditions, " Angel adds. "Not just for others."

Beckett shook her head.

"She was so happy." Beckett continues. "About your private investigation agency; it deals with supernatural and all…"

"Um, what exactly did she tell you?" Angel asks, grabbing the arm of this chair.

"Doyle being half Demon and all, Cordelia working for you, Wesley being a demon hunter…" Beckett puts down her drink. "But I haven't told anyone." She makes the shape of a double cross on her chest. "Your secret is safe with me."

Angel taps his fingers together.

"I know this could be bazaar…" Beckett said, turning away from the counter.

The glass lifts up; not by someone. But the logical conclusion is by _something._

"But; do you happen…" Beckett clears her throat. "To take cases with ghosts?" Her eyes pleaded for some help.

Angel saw several cups hovering right behind Beckett's head.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Beckett asks, curious by Angel's odd behavior. When Beckett turns left towards a piano, the floating glare ware did the same (but hid behind her head); the not quite yet married woman has a birthmark that's the shape of Maryland on her revealed shoulder.

"I'm thinking." Angel lied.

Beckett turns her head towards Angel, putting a finger on a piano's key.

"You don't have a pondering look." Beckett said, as the cups went behind her head. She presses a soft note on the piano key. "Are you a unisex?"

Angel didn't seem to be happy about this question.

"I am not a unisex."

….Angel Investigations…

….That same morning…

"Since when do objects get possessed?" Cordelia asks, a bit confused. "Because if I am doing an audition. I don't want to be chased by a prop for no reason. Is this rare? Is this very common?" Cordelia was making more than required questions to Doyle, after Doyle had told her about the vision he had. A recent one about glass hiding behind Beckett's head.

"It's…not common." Doyle began. "Since dah beginnin' of time tere has been possessed objects. Like Henry Dah 8th's rin'," He gets a puzzled look from her. "Yes dat was possessed and later hidden, terrible mystery tese days. Nobody knew his rin' was possessed, and dat it had a mind of its own."

Cordelia fist bumps Doyle's shoulder.

"Henry the 8th never had a special ring!" Cordelia said. "You have to be pulling my leg to say that."

Doyle rubs his shoulder, as he laughed.

"Wish I were. It's in dah painting' tey have of him (At the museum) ; all ya need ta do is look very closely ta his sleeve covering somethin' red. " Doyle said, shaking his head. "But I saw it, durin' a…um…shady favour."

"But I still can't believe it." Cordelia said, in disbelief. "Objects can get possessed…that is odd."

"Princess," Doyle sounds like a true believer about this. He sounded like it had happened to him before or at least had something possessed. "Some thin's can get possessed, not just dogs or humans."

Cordelia raises an eyebrow at him.

"I had a remote dat chased me out 2 years ago from my apartment." Doyle explains to her, a bit ashamed about it.

"What did you do with it?" Cordelia asks.

_The scene shows Doyle putting the remote into a box, putting bricks on it, and then hiding it in his closet._

"I sold it ta Oz, before Angel destroyed dat ring."

_Another scene shows Doyle getting the remote out of the closet using a flashlight. The viewers can see Oz at the corner of Doyle's shoulder. The Irish Half-breed looked drunk as ever, but getting rid of the remote wasn't a bad idea. If anything else, this was one of the best drunk ideas that Doyle ever got (Besides buying Angela's Ashes)_

"He destroyed the ring?"

Doyle nods.

"I was tere."

Unbeknown gist to them; Wesley put something big into an envelope, closed it, and put it in-between a couple heavy books on Doyle's desk. It was one the perks of being Wesley, you could do some shady things without anyone noticing—when no one was around , that is—when they were busy having an deep conversation.

"Have you seen Dragon Heart?" Wesley asks, out of the blue.

"No." Doyle and Cordelia say at once.

"You should see it," Wesley goes on. "It's being re-aired at the theatre."

_Ring-riNG rING_

Wesley looks down to his phone.

"Excuse me, got a call." Wesley left the couple and went to another room to carry on the conversation.

That call was from Angel, who needed help getting rid of the demon terrorizing Beckett Rivers.

**...7:55 PM…**

**...LandBurg The Los Angelese Theatre... **

"We're here ta see Dragon Heart," Doyle said, handing some cash to him. "Two tickets, please."

The man on the other side of the counter took out two tickets.

"I can't wait to see the movie!" Cordelia chirps,happy as she can be. "I've heard so much about it in…a day."

"Dat's more tan ya hear about movies, tese days." Doyle jokingly said.

Doyle sneezes.

His skin changed from Caucasian to green which then appears to be dotted in spikes and his eyes changed from their innocent color to a bright red. His chin notably changed in this quick, sneezing event. People who were there getting tickets froze. Doyle didn't know it, but he just went into Demon form.

"Ahh!" Alex Hammer, a woman in her mid-thirties, shrieks

"Was my sneeze dat bad?" Doyle asks, unaware of the change. He felt comfortable with himself. Doyle had just come to the point where he accepted his demon half.

"HE'S A DEMON!"

Men, who came into the building, had been armed took out their guns. Cordelia grabs Doyle's left hand (That didn't have too much spikes on it) feeling scared. An employee behind the counter presses a red button.

**"**I'm one of dah good ones." Doyle waves his free right hand. "Not a bad guy put down yer guns."

Hammer and the other men didn't drop their guns.

"That's what they all say!" Mr. Jackson Hammer said.

Everyone in there didn't drop their gun. Because people these days fear demons. Most believe Demons are bent on torturing or killing humans. To be more accurate they were scared. To an average Demon from Los Demonio…Los Angeles is sometimes referred to City of Faith (Where one has faith in one another) as folks say. It's where demons believe they can find faith in humans. But…These folks in the theatre, they didn't want an 'evil' demon in their midst.

Scared, but otherwise shaken, Doyle and Cordelia (They were close enough to the hallway leading to different movie rooms) just ran away from these people into a theatre room. There was a movie going on involving a giant monkey waving two cars in the air and people screaming from the movie. Doyle and Cordelia went into a doorway that was in front of them that lead into a calmer theatre room.

The movie that happened to be on was _Dragon Heart._

Doyle morphs from his Demon form into human form.

"Let's take dah emergency exit." Doyle suggest, in a low voice

Cordelia couldn't believe this is really happening, of all scenarios!

"I wonder if we make King Kong feels this way when we….Ooh Is t…" Cordelia's eyes slightly go big at the screen. She points at it. "That dragon giving his heart?"

Doyle looks at the screen.

"Dat is…" His eyebrows went up. "Unexpected. Wesley was right, it's pretty good."

"And how are we going to get out of here with people prepared to shoot you?"

They hear people from the other room are hollering, and sound confused.

Cordelia couldn't see if he was smiling, but Doyle must have been.

"Trust me. Tey will shoot dah lights out, miss us, and shoot some innocent person. Ten tey'll tink tey shot a 'demon' after it's over." Doyle explains to her. "And we'll be goin' out dah emergency exit."

People also considered when you shot a demon that demon would disappear into the air.

"When really they didn't, I like how you think!" We can see through the dim light that Cordelia kisses Doyle's cheek. " But…have you been in this theatre before?"

"Once or twice I came here ta hide…ya know some thin' are not worth ta be told."

"And that was?"

"Forever ago." Doyle admits. "And Princes…ya squeezin' my hand."

"Ooops." Cordelia loosens her grip. "And how can you remember the emergency exit if it's been forever ago?"

Doyle didn't need to think about what he was going to say next; when he is using his free hand to point at himself.

"I remember meetin' ya for dah first time." He tells her.

"Hey, GET A ROOM!" A man from the audience shouts. "This is not the time to be talking during the best DRAGON movie of the decade!"

"Shut up Harold!"

"No you do it, Alec!"

"Take that back, Harold."

"Not unless you do."

"Both of ya eat some popcorn and enjoy dah movie!"

It makes Cordelia feel relaxed, but hearing the gunfire from the other room sent chills down her skin.

"I'm scared." Cordelia squeezes Doyle's left hand that didn't have too much spikes on it.

"Ah, don't be, Princess." Doyle reassures her.

Doyle opens the door to the other theatre, and they were for sure going to get through this. Our view reclines outside the building but still far enough we can see through a lit window. We hear gunfire. The lights go out. Now it is replaced by dark windows; in a moment there are gunshots that are followed by several white flashes. The glass to the theatre doors shatters into pieces. People scream as they ran through the broken glass doors. We hear a door slam shut at the side of this building.

It fades to black after the last two shots.


	24. We are not alone

Doyle had got shot at his shoulder. Wesley voluntarily drove Cordelia home. But taking out the bullet was not difficult for Doyle (Who treated it like it was just a scratch). Doyle refused going to the hospital. If he wasn't going to the hospital then Angel would take the bullet out. It was the least he could do for Doyle, who had done the same for him after being shot at by Russell's gunman in the beginning of Angel Investigations.

"I thought you weren't allergic to theatres." Angel said, dropping the bullet into a plastic and gray rounded bowl.

Doyle sighs, relieved it's finally over. He puts pressure on the bleeding shoulder. _Wait…did I just say theatre?_ Doyle provides pressure on it long enough to wrap gauze around his shoulder. Great that hurt a lot more than it should had. He could see it slightly get red on the lightly white wrapping,.

"Well…" Doyle then makes an excuse…Well more like a fib. "Somebody had cat fur on tem."

Doyle puts on a clean shirt (That he kept in a desk) while his crunched up, bloody shirt is in a basket.

"…Doyle, you don't have cat allergies," Angel reminds him.

Doyle somewhat shrugs.

"I felt comfortable with myself," Doyle said. "And dat movie," He shook his head. "Man, I see why Wesley suggested _Dragon Heart_."

"…Dragon—what?" Angel repeats, a bit confused people were making movies involving dragons. Hadn't they been afraid of Dragons since…forever ago? Well they may be becoming fearless at this point but not too bold.

His friend, Doyle, is living proof that some people are still afraid of demons.

"Dat was some pretty nifty CGI on dah dragon." Doyle goes on to explain Dragon Heart for Angel.

**In interrogation…**

**…9:24 AM...Next morning..**

Doyle is being questioned by Detective Kate Lockely. He assumed it was for the theatre shooting. The lights in the interrogation room are fine but the window is obvious to Doyle that other people are watching them. She came into the room holding a tan file. Something about her mood told Doyle this might be the time where he could tell her about being half demon.

Kate is holding coffee in her other hand.

"I swear, I wasn't in dah theatre." Doyle swore, raising his right hand up. Brachen's could heal faster than humans (Which allowed him to take off the gauze just an hour ago). This allowed him to be out of the hospital for however long. "Tey got me confused with somebody else."

"What theatre?" Kate asks, sitting down on a chair holding a tan folder with paper sticking out from the sides.

Kate puts her coffee cup on the table.

Doyle's face relaxes, as does his fingers and shoulders. His back goes against the chair he is sitting on. _Good, _Doyle thought in relief, _Tey don't know about dah theatre. _ Doyle puts his hands on the table similar to a kid who's preparing to play with his fingers._ Tey must tink dah demon's dead as pixie dust. _

"Nevermind."

"Doyle, I asked you here for questioning because…"

"Tere's a lead on dat mistaken identity?"

Kate sent him a 'don't-you-interupt-me' warning glare.

"No." She said, in a sharp but efficient reply. Kate puts the file on the table. Her mood changed from investigative to searching for answers. "Why…why didn't you tell me that McCoy was your brother?"

Doyle leans slightly forward.

"Because it wasn't relevant." Doyle said. "Dat was somebody else. "

Kate opens a file.

"And how do ya know?..." Doyle asks, seeing the open file,

"I have friends in higher places." Kate said, looking through pictures in the folder. "Who were advanced enough to match your DNA to him and other victims."

_ He was mentioned….in a sentence with Victims, _Doyle thought as it became slow motion.

"H…He's…He's dead?" Doyle said, looking quite unsure.

Doyle remembered Jefferson kicking him out when he was doing some stuff that drug addicts would do, and that he sneezed. That sneeze was how Jeferson found out about their mom's one night stand with a Brachen Demon. It was a day Doyle would never, ever forget. That sneeze also alerted his brother to two worlds; The Demon world and the Drug addict word. This happened sometime after Harriet left him.

Kate slides forth a picture of Bridget.

Doyle didn't recognize the woman at all. He hadn't even met her!

"He is, and so is an innocent woman." Kate taps on Bridget's photo. "Whatever feud your family is in…" She stops tapping on it, backing a hand away from the photo. She picks up her coffee, takes a drink and then puts it down. "This has to stop."

"It's not a feud." Doyle said, in a low voice.

"Then what is it?" Kate asks even more. "Is it a Romeo and Juliet kind of Fued or is the Hatfield and McCoy kind?"

Doyle turns his head towards the interrogation window, then back towards Kate.

"Ya better turn dat window off." Doyle points to the interrogation window. He is not kidding what is being said. The look in his eyes could say it all. "Dis is somethin' dat should not be on dah record."

Kate gives the signal, and then the window becomes darker.

"Now spill." Kate said, picking up her coffee.

Doyle switches to his demon form; Kate puts down her coffee, then took out her gun.

"What the—" Kate got up, aiming her gun at him. She puts down her coffee.

"Go ahead," Doyle puts his foot on the table. He apparently is ready to hear what she has to say. Doyle expected it to be short much like an insult. "Everyone says it."

Kate stood away from her chair. wary of Doyle.

"What are you?"

Doyle rolls his right eye.

"…I wasn't expectin' dat." Doyle shook his head. His shoes squeak on the table. "Ah, put down dat gun." Doyle told her in amused voice, waving a hand down. "I'm half demon." _Seesh. She's got some fear in there. "_Ya look ridiculous aimin' at a harmless half-breed."

Kate lowers her gun.

"Who...sent you here?"

Doyle rubs his chin.

"Uh, nobody," Doyle said, shaking his head as he morphs to human form.

Kate's eyes told him she could go with that.

"Are…are you from hell?" Kate asks.

Doyle laughs at her funny question.

"Are ya serious?" He asks, folding his arms. Doyle looks at her in a funny way. He could tell that she stood by her question through and through. "I was born dah way all people are," Doyle said, being patient with her. "I was not sent!"

"How can I be sure?"

Doyle puts down his feet off the table.

"Half of dah population entire world is half demon or mainly demon," Doyle explains. "_The X-Files _aren't just dah only ones who help others, Mulder and Scully both FBI detectives solving supernatural crimes." He puts his hands together. "All right...Ya don't understand."

She nods, saying "I don't."

"If ya have dat window still on…" Doyle points to the window hanging on the wall. "…And recordin' dis," Doyle pauses. He remembered wise words Marx said to him. "… With some other people starin' at dis, ten ya lookin' to be responsible for…"

Doyle looks away from the window.

"About equivalent to 58 thousand lives bein' lost ta revealin' demons ta dah world and ta dah president. Dah World isn't ready ta known about Demons or half demons; we're stereotyped." He had to make this clear. "Ya remember the holocaust?"

Kate puts her gun away.

"It's off." Kate said, standing behind her chair.

"And dah thin' is, Jefferson's very much human. My mom had a one night stand with a Brachen, drunk on dis world's beauty," Doyle explains for her to understand.. "And ditched mom after I was born."

Kate's forehead becomes full of wrinkles.

"As far as I had been aware, I was dah only child tey had," Doyle admits. "Until…" Doyle didn't finish what he was going to say, but, he really didn't want to say it. He shrugs. "Dis happened."

Kate's forehead then loses its wrinkles.

"Who is hunting down your relatives?"

Doyle's face grew grim, a little dark.

"Ya know dat somethin's don't revolve around dah law enforcement." Doyle tells her. "It's my fault dat it happened…I won't explain how it is…But dah other guy responsible is dead."

Kate takes out a small notebook from her pocket as she sits back down.

"Other guy?" Kate asks, taking her pen out.

Doyle sighs.

"Copy cat Demon, relative ta dah vampire…He helped Dean track down…." Doyle looks down towards his bruised knuckles. "A toddler." _ Annie H. Scotch…_Doyle continues that train of thought in his mind. _Poor girl._

Kate wrote this down in bullet form. But the toddler part, that alarmed her. She looks up from the paper.

"Toddler?"

Doyle looks up from his bruised knuckles; He has a solemn face.

"Ya haven't found dah body."

Kate raises an eyebrow, puzzled by his confusing comment.

"There's another?"

Doyle sighs.

"Detective Kate, do ya realize how …" Doyle bit his lip. "Do ya realize dat a body can be hidden in a junk yard, inside a luggage in dah most gruesome way possible?"

The Detective's calm, collected vibe was gone and replaced by horrified eyes.

"I was…kind of…given a tip about dis." Doyle goes on, making an uncomfortable shrug. "It said tere was somethin' waitin' for me in dah junkyard."

_The scene shows Doyle walking towards a stinking luggage._

"And boy," Doyle whistles, shaking his head. "If a cat was around…it would have died from dah stench."

_Doyle picks up a pipe, and cracks it open._

"I hope ya have a forensic team with a hard stomach,," Doyle warns her. "It's at Los Angeles Junk Yard."

_Doyle covers his mouth, ad he runs off behind a big junk pile._

Doyle slides Bridget's photograph back to Kate.

"You…saw it?" Kate manages to speak.

Doyle puts his hands together.

"Nearby, ya'll smell something less bad tan dat stench." Doyle said, in the lightest way possible. He shook his head. "Don't say I didn't warn ya."

Doyle hesitates, and then after a few moments he tells her.

"A Killanobi Demon." Doyle said. "I'm serious. He comes from Africa. He can't posseses anyone,sadly."

Kate rubs her chin, interested about this killanobi demon.

"How do you know?"

"Dat's one of dah only things that's known about him."

"And…"

"He hates loud noises."

Kate raises an eyebrow.

"How do you know about that?"

Doyle briefly closes his eyes, then he reopens them.

"He told me."

The words sent chills down Kate's skin.

_"Screaming hurts my ears; any kind such as yelling, shouting, and so on. The kind where a microphone is used." Dean goes on, brushing aside a beer. "You get what I mean?"_

_Doyle is uncomfortable._

_ "I am not dah mean one in here," Doyle sarcastically said, folding his arms on the table. He looks towards Dean. _

"He's been alive for 270 years,"Doyle adds, feeling her eyes on him. "His favorite hobby is torturing his victims—who he prefers ta be half-breeds—slowly. But when he's mad; it's very fast."

Doyle pats on the table.

"Did you do a favor—" Kate tries asking Doyle.

"No." Doyle cut her off. "I just…interfered in his business." He shrugs. "Dat's all ya need ta know."

* * *

_Marx had come into the dark, not well lit room. Doyle had been here before too. To be truthful; Doyle is in here. Marx knew this room to be one of the dangers of passing through to children's beds. But it wasn't fine; it wasn't as reckless or risky as it used to be. It felt…controlled. It wasn't quite safe. It felt so threatening towards him. _

_ "The hell happened here?" Marx said out loud. _

_ Marx heard a tapping from behind him._

_ "I didn't expect you to come," A new, odd voice greets him._

_ Marx turns around, flipping his night-light on._

_"Oh my…" Marx staggers back, SCARED by this Boogie Demon._

_ The Boogie Cannibal Demon cackles at him._

_ "Are you..scared, old man?" He heard the voice again. _

_Marx didn't have the best sight in the room. _

_ "No." Marx said. "But feeding off a Half-demons fear isn't your style. You feed off humans…am I correct?"_

_ He hears a low grumble._

_ "Fast learner, I see." The BCD said, walking around him. _

_Marx swung his axe to the right._

_"Miiiissed." The BCD taunts him, as the axe strikes an empty space._

_ Hahahahaa_

_The creepy, odd laugh seems to be laughing at Marx's failure. _

_"He was looking for 's pinkie finger." The BCD said, licking something he is holding.. "And that's the best part of the body" _

_It disturbs Marx to hear him talk about bones this way. _

_ "The original boogie Man was my great, great, great grandfather." The BCD continues, with a laugh that is not…usual. "His legacy lives in me."_

_ The bragging is starting to get on his nerves._

_ He heard a muffle._

_"You are abusing his legacy!" Marx shouts. _

_"Tsk tsk tsk." The BCD said. "He (That ugly half-demon) was looking under the bed. I couldn't eat him….But I could devour that really, tasty fear. You should try it sometime."_

_Marx could feel his blood is boiling. _

_"Fear is not solid food." Marx said. "It keeps you ALIVE."_

_"And it lets my prey know they are still alive, too," The BDC said. "Ooh.I see more fear from others…not from him….not from you…but fear towards him."_

_Marx could feel him breathing on his neck._

_"Don't you regret…"_

_"I have lots of regrets!" Marx said. "And some of them aren't pretty."_

_The nameless BCD shook his head, making a 'tsk' sound three times._

_"… giving 'them' your soul in exchange to live a 'normal' life?" The BCD asks, sounding further away from Marx. _

_Marx runs towards the darkness, hopefully towards the BCD._

_"You miiiissssed." The BCD teasingly said. _

**_Fllffip_**

_Marx heard a chair tip over. That was enough sound for Marx to be more aware of his surroundings. Night-sight to his eyes is in neon blue light outlining what is alive. Boogie Demons had evolved over time they stopped using some senses. One of those is being able to see shapes in blue. Marx could see his target quite well in 4 seconds._

_"No, I won't. " Marx said, as he is crouching._

_Marx turns slightly , and then he threw it right behind himself. _

**_-las_**

_He cut off an arm to the BCD demon._

_"Doesn't mean not being in the business leaves you blind in the night!" Marx shouts twirling his weapon in his hand._

_The BCD screams while staggering back a step. _

_"I know some demons…" Marx said, detecting he's right across from him. "Who know their way in the dark…"_

* * *

Angel awoke in the middle of a field. Had he just got…Abducted by aliens? The flash of lights and strange gray, small humanoid figures lingering over his view…Angel couldn't believe it happened to him! To him of all people! Besides being a broody vampire with a soul, he didn't like this. It felt so odd. It is scary being in the middle of the cornfield shirtless and pant less (For sure) shivering.

"This…" Angle hurries into a barn. "Is embarrassing."

**…A few hours later…**

** ….Night…Angel Investigations…**

Spike came in to Angel's apartment. It was the most unusual and unexpected move that Angel ever considered. Let alone be the sire of Drusilla (Who sired Spike ) who is being visited by Spike after an humiliating and odd experience. The bright lights, odd noises, cricket-alien-like sounds, and strange sensation hadn't left Angel.

"How did you get in?" Angel is wary of him.

Spike rolls an eye, making a grunt like sound.

"Backdoor." Spike said, as though it was matter of fact that Angel left the door open. He waves a hand. "Nah, just kidding." Spike laughs. "Wesley let me in."

_…Spike…kidding?_

"And…. why are you here?"

Why would Spike come straight from Sunnydale, just to come here? He must have an important reason.

"To tell you that whatever you are planning; don't do it." Spike goes on. "Dru and I were enjoying a good blood sucking, but then…this…well..um.." He fiddles with his feet. "She started rambling, like in one of her trances. But she was scared."

_ Drusilla…scared?_

"She kept saying 'They'll lose faith in dad if he does that'," Spike twirls his right index finger in circles. "Over and over. It was like gibberish at first. But then I understood…after using a recorder."

"Spike, get out." Angel demands, not wanting to hear what he thinks Spike I saying.

"Uh, no, I may be your grandsire but..." He raises a finger. "This doesn't even sound good. The only way I was able to get here was by telling Dru I would warn you not to do it, and….

Angel rubs his forehead.

"You locked her in a room."

Spike shrugs.

"Tough love." Spike said. "But please, don't even do that. Because I know this is working out for you; helping those people who can't get help from…You know…You are almost like the supernatural robin hood. I love Dru, and if she see a future that makes her a upset (Invovling those close to her)" He points down to the floor. "I get concerned. "

We briefly see Detective Kate looking up on the computer, something gets her attention and her mass clicking comes to a halt. Her eyes are stuck on a familiar face…all too familiar but not quite exact to the face she is familiar with. She slides back in the seat and then gets up, turning off the computer for the night. If one could ask why she is researching about some case it would involve being in her shoes looking to get a case solved.

Angel forces Spike out Angel investigations.

"So…could ya?" Doyle is on the phone with a friend of his in Australia.

The Austrialian friend taps on a desk.

"Well…" His Austrailain friend is named Cellen C. Smith. He is wearing a multiple colored scarf that nearly covers his face. "I dunno about you, Doyle, but how in the world did you get a Killanobi mad?"

Doyle explains what he did.

"Doyle!" Cellen screams. "Are you high?"

"No." Doyle said, holding the phone away from his ear.

Cellen sighs.

"Great, you are crazier than that man called the Curator," He lifts up a part of the scarf. "Of that…odd museum." Cellen shifts in his seat as a kangaroo mouse hops on his desk. "Eh, atleast I got a good scarf from him."

Cellen puts a breadcrumb on the desk.

"Doyle, if I do this, then you should not get into the affairs of another Killanobi demon again," Cellen said, in a warning voice as the kangaroo mouse ate the breadcrumb. It looks up to him with begging, huge adorable eyes. "You owe me another favor."

"Sure sure sure."

"This is only to protect your mom in Ireland, it's only a favor until that Killanobi demon is dead."


	25. An Unexpected event

It was strange for a moment, seeing someone who almost looked like him in a dream. But this man looked like the man from the internet: had been feeling lately that something wasn't totally right. It wasn't quite usual. It was…unfamiliar to him. It was like walking in a city without directions to a local bar. He isn't the best detective to his own problems: That is a terrible flaw.

Floyd can admit to that, being a disadvantage for a Leckochen.

"Hey Andy…" Floyd held a ticking box, entering a room where Andrew is in a meeting with…no other than shady individuals. "Did ya happen ta order an explosive?"

The individuals mainly consisted of men and women, who look at Andrew's direction. The room has a long desk with several chairs that have these people sitting on them. The room has several dark windows that seemingly are protected by some kind of blinds. Under and beside them are weapons. Right behind Floyd is two open glass, doors with metal frames. The walls did have some unique decorations that were weapons. The carpet is blue. The table is wooden, not plastic.

"Floyd," Andrew starts, his eyes locked on the package. His eyes take their focus off the box and change their attention to Floyd. "You are an idiot."

"Why?" Floyd asks.

"Because, we don't need explosives." Andrew said with his hand on the table. "Throw it out the window!"

_It has his name on it._ Floyd goes to the window, and then he pulls it open.

"Seesh, someone has a nerve." Floyd makes a comment to himself.

He throws the box out the window.

The ticking box flew in the air as it were ticking… The next second, it exploded sending a genuine shockwave through other buildings around it. The force glass, bricks, and explosive effects into the room. It also sent Floyd hitting the glass door (Or what remained of it) right across from him. The other shady characters were sent clear to the other side of the room. The blinds were blown in through into the building. Floyd saw Andrew rush out the room as light was entering.

Smoke settled in.

"…Someone…h-h-h-as a big nerve." Floyd flinches, feeling pain in his neck and back. He struggled to stay awake, he had to! What if the police were doing this to draw them out? What I they were doing this just to get Andrew weakened and separate them? "M-m...Must...s-s-s-stay awake."

Floyd coughs, feeling pain in his chest.

**-T-t-trudge**

His eyes felt heavy, as he heard boots trudging to the room.

"…Have ta stay awake." Floyd tries morphing into his Leckochen form.

It was no use.

A tall, well-nourished soldier stood in front of Floyd's feet.

"Nighty night, Doyle." The man said, as Floyd's eyes were point to the point of he could see is that this soldier has a missing front tooth. He probably lost it in a bar fight. The soldier has a crooked smile.

Did he just get called by the name of the half-demon?

"..It's…not….Doyle…" Floyd loses consciousness, letting rest over take him entirely….


	26. Dah truth is out tere

Floyd is unsure why he was called Doyle. It just didn't fit together. Except for the fact they _nearly_ looked alike. There's clear differences between Leckochen and Brachen, both sides had feuds and wars between them, which is more obvious than not. They had different physical features in demon form. If the soldier intended to annoy Floyd by calling him 'Doyle' before he slipped, then it was surely working.

After what seemed like forever (And eternity) , Floyd regains consciousness.

Floyd woke up in a bright room. His vision was blurry at first, but after blinking a few times everything came into focus. It felt like he hadn't eaten in a few days. He saw two men standing there talking. _Am I in the hospital? _Floyd did not hear sounds a busy hospital would have. He figured he was somewhere that's like a hospital but not quite it.

"I…I am not Doyle." Floyd said, trying to push himself forward.

The first man, Donny Cachen, laughs.

"I told you so,Brack." Donny said, as the man beside him (Who is Brack) takes out a couple dollars. "Pay up."

Brack puts a couple dollars in Donny's hand.

"…What kind of name is dat? " Floyd asks, feeling well rested but hungry and thirsty. He could have been in hibernation for 6 months. "Dah name 'Brack', did yer parents run out of good names?"

Donny slaps his knee as Brack's face becomes red.

"Be glad I can't punch you." Brack said, with a warning growl.

"Well ten…" Floyd starts counting his fingers. "Why did ya; Send an explosive, Let it detonate, call me Doyle, and where dah heck am I?"

He holds up four fingers.

"You are still in China." Donny tells him.

"Annd?"

"It was the best way to get you." Donny explains. "We have…" He clears his throat, stumbling in what he is trying to say. "We…Um…need your help."

Floyd is mad.

"Ya could have called!" Floyd shouts, his left hand curls into a fist. "I wouldn't be unable ta help, besides, I'm hungry. How long have I been out?"

Donny and Brack are silent.

"I want an answer." Floyd said, in the voice he wouldn't use with others.

Donny plays with his fingers.

"You've been out for over a…um…month." Donny struggles to say this…in one breath.

Floyd's eyes grew wide and rounded.

"I really hate ya," Floyd said, as his eyes return to normal. "Ya know dat?"

Brack and Donny look down ashamed, as they mutter "Yes."

* * *

**…Los Angelese…**

**…America…**

"Is it usual for Angel to be grumpy?" Wesley asks Doyle, after Angel went into his office.

Doyle has a paperback book in his hands. He has this surprised reaction. Doyle hadn't imagined someone like Wesley to ask him a question like this. Nor had he wanted this to be a moment. It is a good question. But…it sounded very ridiculous.

"Angel, grumpy?" Doyle said, with a laugh. "He's broody. Not all dah time." Doyle shook his head. "Angel has his moments."

Wesley turns his attention towards Doyle.

"You know him better than I, already." Wesley sits on the corner of a desk. He folds his arms. And then he asked a simple question, if it was really that simple that is, that a really good friend could answer right away. "Tell me…What do you think is up with him?"

Doyle has a little 'crap' moment.

"Well…" Doyle trails, recalling what he has been doing for the past week.

The things that Angel wouldn't necessary do; travel when it's day and use shadows to protect him.

"He's been visitin' dis hotel." Doyle said, looking over his shoulder briefly. He changes his attention back to Wesley. "Don't tell Cordelia about dat. I was out with some old drinkin' buddies of mine outside a bar, catchin' up on dah good stuff. I saw Angel go in ta dis building."

"Did you go in?" Wesley asks.

"I…" Doyle puts the book down. "When I came in ta dat hotel…." He shook his head. "I heard tese voices in my head. And ta be frank tey creeped me out…"

Wesley unfolds his arms.

"What kind of voices?" Wesley stands up from the corner of the desk.

"It's a historic buildin', Wesley." Doyle reminds him.

"You don't usually hear voices in your head that make you leave a building."

Doyle shuddered, remembering the creepy and odd atmosphere that lingered inside the building.

"But…someone still lives in tere. I got dah feelin'."

Wesley rubs his chin.

"You got paranoid."

"No, I didn't."

"Did too."

"I didn't just leave…." Doyle argues back, standing up. He didn't admit to a lot of things like that. "…Because I got dah goosebumps, Wesley."

"Oh yeah?" Wesley raises a brow at him. "Let's take this argument outside," Wesley is deliberately trying to act tough. "And not let the boss hear."

Doyle pinches his forehead.

"Ya can stop callin' Angel 'Boss'." Doyle said, going out first.

Wesley goes after him, saying "Oh yeah?"

Angel, in his office, taps a pencil on the table contemplating about whatever is going on. Fortunately he is deep in thought about this he couldn't hear what they what Wesley and Doyle had been talking about. Whatever involved hotel had totally got his attention (Besides helping those who were helpless) in a way that reflected him for the past month

* * *

** ….China…**

Floyd's eyes grew wide and wide as they explained to him what kind of problem they got into. The situation sounded dire, but plausible to get it done. Drinking Soda did wonders to his thirst. Floyd has been in missions long enough with Andrew to know that impossible is really possible. It was partially his fault this happened. And some of it was Cornelia's fault too. They let the problem get out of hand.

Now…Floyd had to fix it for them.

A black SUV stops at a abandoned building (Not The Crew Headquarters); then men in SWAT uniform came out. Really they are not officers from a official agency though they are Chinese officers working on a simple mission: Eliminate the threat. Floyd had to come even if the plan didn't involve him; they still needed his help carrying it out.

Floyd, on the other hand, didn't wear a helmet; he had on black sunglasses (Believing that it's cool to wear them during an elimination) in the mist of this. Floyd did get into a SWAT uniform. He preferred not to be in Leckochen form during this event in front of the men. Regardless that half of the men on the mission were half demons they easily outnumbered the humans. The human officers were not aware they had half-breeds on this mission.

Sticks crunched under their boots.

Floyd slid down his dark, rounded glasses.

"So, is dis dah place?" Floyd said, with a whistle.

Donny nods.

"I expected it…ta be a bit bigger." Floyd said.

"So did me." Brack joins in.

The head member of this task force gave the signal, and so they sneaked inside the building. We hear gun fire from inside the building and bullets fly off deflected surfaces. We can hear punches, neck breaking; and so on…This goes on for approximately an hour and thirty five minutes. We go in to see Floyd is standing there, a bit shocked to see a timer on a device that can explode.

"…I'm startin' ta hate dah old fashioned way." Floyd complains, taking off his dark, long gloves.

Floyd looks over his shoulder.

"Get..out while ya still can." Floyd said, in a warning voice.

**-B-B-balm.**

"You heard the man!" The 3rd in Command said, as the gunfire draws their attention.

The men ditched Floyd, all except for Donny. He was alone. But he had adrenaline running through his face. Donny is panting and sweaty. Floyd took the lid off the explode-able device. If a kitten had been in there then he wouldn't had eased the tension because there were lives on the line. Many lives that did not involve the animal, only these men and other people did it impact greatly.

"Well… " Floud starts. "Where's yer pal Brack?"

Floyd is not accustomed to seeing him without the more tan and really good looking young man.

Donny's face became pale.

"Oh hell." Donny turns around, and then he goes down a hallway calling for Brack.

Floyd had experience with disabling bombs, before he ever met Andrew and Cornelia…All he had to do was: rip out all the wires. He later found out Brack was shot 12 times and his body wasn't really…good looking to be exact. It looked like had been in a bar fight but twice as bad as a street riot. Floyd hadn't seen a man die like that in ages. It made his entire philosophy on being the antongist change completely.

That's when he decided to help China deal with The Crew's schemes; to end these potentially deadly schemes.

**…Los Angelese…**

….Angel Investigations…

Angel Investigations had returned to normal; from the Paranoid Hotel entire scenario was a test to show what kinds of things they kept from each other. They learned Angel had stayed at this hotel 49 years ago. Doyle and Wesley had a argument about something that went on in the hotel earlier last night. But now they are recalling their greatest achievement: Getting rid of a paranoid-feeder demon.

"Tell me," Doyle said. "When did ya plan ta get dah cable hooked in?"

Wesley stops in place, as he held his coffee.

"I didn't." Wesley admits, slighting shaking his head. "I was worried about exorcising him out the hotel…" He bit his lip, then he asks in a low voice. "What if we had failed?"

Doyle looks towards Angel's office.

"A complete nightmare," But then he brightened his attitude. "But look, dah hotel is now back ta...bein' what it was meant ta be. And all's forgiven, sort of."

Cordelia came into the building, looking like she just woke up from a terrible nightmare.

"Who set the alarm clock on me?!" Cordelia demands an answer, "Was it you, Wes?"

Doyle and Wesley share a fist bump.

"And now you are friends?" Cordelia is spellbounded by this. "Boys are really confusing!"


	27. Turnin' down dah street

A week passed…In China. Why do we bother staying here? Well the logical answer is that Detective Lockely Kate has been tracking down Dean to the point she had a one on one confrontation with him. She escaped (Thankfully scrapped, but alive), but knowing Doyle had a problem… that didn't sit well with her. Detective Kate is digging deeper into Doyle's case. That's why we are here; to show a different life on the other side of the continent. China is not just the interesting place where most of Jackie Chan's movies take place in. It's also…intriguing.

Floyd got a partner, Chia-ong Davies. He is an interesting fellow who came from a rural side of China.

"So… how did you get into being a Detective?" Chia-ong asks, in a fluent Chinese accent. He is leaning on the edge of his desk.

Floyd looks up from the newspaper, with a scar going down his nose.

"Yer'll get bored." Floyd said,

"I never get bored." Chia-Ong argues back.

So Floyd proceeds to tell him. "It starts in an old, rusty farm house with horses, donkeys, chickens…and a grumpy cow." Floyd clears his throat. "I got approached by a director (or an agent, whichever tey are called,) after I pretty much impressed him."

Chia-ong sat in his chair, immersed in Floyd's lie.

"And I'm lyin'." Floyd snaps his fingers.

Chia-ong frowns, as he leans back in his chair and his mood changes a little.

"Tell me the truth." Chai-ong said.

Floyd shook his head.

"Nah." Floyd puts down the newspaper on the side of his desk.. "It's somethin' dat ya not goin' ta believe, trust me."

Chia-ong snorts, taking out a case file. He puts it in the middle of Floyd's desk on a blue mat.

"Check it out." Chia-Ong said, raising his eyebrows at once like an over-confident man.

Floyd opens the file to see a case involving a man that couldn't leave his house in day and a family who were killed by him. The report said so but didn't have a name to go along with the man's description, He read the victim report, to discover there was one small infant who had her blood drained. _Two adults, three kids all dead_.

Floyd's skin becomes completely white as he stared at it.

This family was pretty wealthy living in a rural neighborhood, having three kids is not allowed in China. There is the one child policy, so, this means they had paid local enforcers not to kill their children. _Andy…_He thought, recalling his friend bragging about killing a family with three kids they ever met.

"Impressed now?" Chia-Ong asks, as he is playing with a pencil and a pink eraser.

Chia-ong didn't get a response, so he looks up to see a very pale Floyd.

"…Do you know who did it?" Chia-Ong asks, recognizing the 'oh crap' look.

Floyd looks up from the file, as he closed it.

"I do." Floyd said, putting the case file down.

Floyd and Chia-ong are called in to a disturbance, in some part of China (They wrote down the address). So Chia-Ong took the liberty to drive instead of Floyd doing the driving, again. Floyd knew if he was in the driver's seat then people would know something is up. They would know he is alive. And that he's deflected from being a bad guy.

Floyd's window is dark and rolled up.

"Ya know about Half Breed demons?" Floyd asks.

Chia-Ong's hands relax their grip on the steering wheel.

"My neighborhood…" Chia-Ong begins saying. "Had the supernatural things going on; I can believe what you have to tell me."

"Good, because a vampire kill dat family."

Eerily enough, the atmosphere around Chia-ong changed.

"So…" Chia-ong is speaking in a low voice, he presses a button on the car door. His window rolls up too. "He's real."

"Andrew…yeah." Floyd said, as Chia-Ong took an unexpected turn into a neighborhood.

Chia-ong slows down the vehicle.

"Andrew?" Chia-Ong's eyes are like a lie detector personified. "Who's Andrew?"

Floyd tells him about Andrew; and as he did, Floyd saw Chia-Ong's face become red.

"I don't want ya ta go after him." Floyd said. "He's…honestly…taken down—"

"What?" Chia-Ong asks, in a mad and justice-filled voice. "Taken down more innocent people than that family?"

Floyd waves his hands in front of himself.

"Woah woah woah," Floyd said. "Yer takin' dis personally…" He bites his lip. "Don't tell me ya are dah survivor."

Chia-Ong's eyes are like blaring, threatening daggers.

"I never forgot, nor ever forgave." Chia-Ong said.

Floyd rubs his forehead as he sarcastically says, "What a surprise."

Chia-Ong stops the car.

"I want to know where he lives." Chia-Ong said, as the heated redness is fading from his face.

Floyd looks at him, like 'really?' reaction.

"Chia-Ong, sometimes we make stupid mistakes," Floyd tells him.

Floyd looks up to see a photograph tucked under a pocket attached to the frame of the window. It was Chai-Ong's family…sometime before their murder. Two parents standing behind three kids as one parent held the infant. Floyd recognizes a thirteen year old boy as Chia-Ong and the picture looks really stained.

_ Never had his family to attend a wedding,_ Floyd assumes. _Nor his graduation…nor…whatever important event in his life. _

"And yer a good detective." Floyd continues speaking, in a lighter tone.

Floyd looks away the picture.

"Ya shouldn't waste it on an avenging mission," Floyd continues, "Dat will not end well."

"How do you know?" Chia-ong asks.

"I've heard by dah great vine dat my counterpart did somethin' like dat." Floyd admits. "In Los Angeles. Guess what happened?"

"He succeeded." Chia-Ong said, taking on a bright assumption.

Floyd could have laughed at that, but he didn't.

"No." Floyd said, rubbing his temples.

The Half breed Leckochen sighs.

"He almost did, but…dat killianobi demon survived." Floyd continues explaining how revenge can backfire. "He's got a killanobi huntin' down and killin' his family." He snaps his fingers.

Chia-Ong is unmoved, turning on the window shield wipers.

"Do ya want dat ta happen ta yer family?" Floyd asks his partner.

Chia-Ong did not seem faltered by Floyd's words.

"My family is _dead_." Chia-Ong reminds him.

"Not yer uncles, aunts, cousins, nephews…" Floyd said, as he saw color return to Chia-Ong's face. Floyd had done research about Chia-Ong's relatives, not his family when he couldn't find Chai-ong's mom and dad's files. Chia-Ong has two nephews (Saved by paying money to someone).

Floyd shook his head, adding "If ya kill Andrew, I won't be tere ta stop yer own extinction."

Chia-Ong is a bit defeated, as he looks away from the road towards Floyd.

"…Are they really that bold?" Chai-Ong asks, in a small but sheepish voice.

Floyd nods.

"Yes." Floyd said. He slightly waves his right hand back and forth. "Ya can kill other vampires, but…not Andrew…not him."


	28. Sometimes we change for dah good

**…Two hours later…**

Returning to the story; we see and hear Chia-Ong and Floyd singing to a song on the radio. It's a little odd to begin this way, but, this takes place in China. Anything can possibly happen in 1999. The song is called "You drive me crazy."

"Baby," The two men sing. "I'm so excited, I am in too deep!"

It is the _only s_ong they agreed on.

_"You drive me crazy,  
I just can't sleep,  
I'm so excited, I'm in too deep,"_

Chia-Ong taps on the driver wheel, humming (While singing to it) with the song.

_"Oh, crazy, but it feels alright  
Baby, thinking of you keeps me up all night,"_

It's dark outside, so the car windows are rolled down. They spent a good time on the road getting directions than actually driving. Chia-Ong was the one who had asked for directions not Floyd. Floyd had told him the whole story about how he really got into being a detective (and that no-one really knew he was alive). The building they've been called to come in is just ahead. Chai-Ong turns off the radio.

Chia-Ong parks the car right outside at a building. It looks clean from the outside; there wasn't any chaos or commotion coming from it. Floyd and Chia-Ong are a bit surprised. There isn't a sound coming from it. The men share doubtful thoughts about whether this being legit or a set up. Detectives are not immune to getting black mailed, framed, and losing loved ones.

"Did we get played?" Chia-Ong asks.

Floyd unbuckles his seat belt.

"There's one way we can find out." Floyd said, opening the car door.

Chai-Ong rolls his eyes.

"Hopefully. . ." Chia-Ong begrudgeningly said, as he presses the red button on his seatbelt. "it's a vampire."

Floyd gets out the car as he ignores that comment.

"What's your name again?" Chia-Ong asks, slamming his door.

"Floyd." Floyd said, as the car lights turn off.

Chia-Ong laughs, shaking his head as he pants on the roof of the car.

"I mean your full name." Chai-ong takes his hand off the car's roof.

It is an unexpected question from Chia-Ong. Working together for a week and Floyd is still getting surprised by him. This question also tells Floyd that Chai-Ong hasn't read his file. Not everyone has asked Floyd about his full name; not ever. He prefers to be called 'Floyd'. Working with a partner on a job as a detective also means you have to build trust and friendship.

"Promise me. . ." Floyd looks way from his shoes to his partner. "Dat ya won't laugh."

Chia-Ong rolls his eyes, putting the keys into his dark pocket.

"I won't." Chai-Ong shook his left hand. He makes a cross on his chest to the side instead of the center. "I cross my heart."

"Ya crossed yer lungs." Floyd said.

Chai-Ong shrugs, not seeing what Floyd saw as wrong.

"I cross my lung." Chai-Ong said. "Now say it."

". . . I was named after a goldfish." Floyd admits to him.

Chai-Ong rolls an eye.

"That is so sad." Chai-Ong pities him.

Floyd put both hands into his pockets as he and Chai-Ong came to the door.

"Dah fish is still alive." Floyd adds.

"Spill it." Chia-Ong lights a cigarette.

"Alex Dennis Floyd," Floyd has moment to pause on this. "Junior."

Chai-Ong shook his head, laughing at the last part.

"You swore!" Floyd reminds him, holding a finger up.

Chai-Ong sheepishly smiles, giving him a 'Don't tell me not to laugh on things like that'. They hear voices from inside the building that were louder than required when speaking. Chai-Ong takes out his gun. Floyd goes into Leckochen form, then he recognizes these voices hearing one reptile sounding individual make a unconventional comment in a loud voice. The smell of a bad odor disgusts him. Floyd puts his hand in Chai-Ong's gun's muzzle.

"Hand Guns do not work on Reicho Demons." Floyd reminds Chai-Ong.

Chai-Ong lowers the gun; then noticing the strange aappearance that Floyd.

"Are you a rabbit demon?" Chia-Ong asks.

Floyd shook his head.

"No." Floyd said.

". . . Anyway, what works on Riecho demons?" Chia-Ong asks, as Floyd's right hand lowers. "The streets don't say much about killing Reicho demons—wait. How do you know there's a Riecho Demon in there?"

Floyd kicks down the door, with his boot on.

**R-r-rip.**

". . . Nice bear socks." Chia-Ong said, seeing Floyd's ripped up boots.

"I hate dis brand." Floyd goes back to the car. "Go in with a shovel; I'll be comin' with a new pair."

Chia-Ong picks up a discarded shovel.

"You didn't answer my question!" Chai-Ong insists.

Floyd puts an arm through the passenger door to get out a pair of shoes.

"Leckochen's have a good sense of smell." Floyd tells him. "And. . . I met one of dose Reicho demons before, and. . ." Floyd shook his head as he resumes human form. "Tey aren't friendly."

Chai-Ong enters building.

"He went ta dah wrong door." Floyd tells himself.

Floyd takes out a pair of thick heavy socks from under the seat and a bigger pair of boots wide enough for his feet to be in. He was prepared if this happened where it required using his foot. This time he had forgotten about the whole foot ripping the shoe thing for a while. He sat down, took his boots off. His socks were torn, again. These socks are decorated in teddy bears. He takes the socks off.

Floyd's big toe is somewhat claw-like. It's not result of his foot changing, it's because both big toes were like that since birth. Floyd puts on the two big, thick socks that mostly covered his claw-like big toes. He puts on the boots, then puts the old pair of socks into the ruined boots and puts them into the passenger car seat. He didn't need to tie these boots; they were not meant to be tied.

He gets up and then goes behind the building.

"Chia-Ong falls for dah wrong directions." Floyd saw the door is slightly open. He didn't feel the need to lower his voice. The voices are a bit clearer than they had been before. Floyd recognizes the tone that belonged to one of the voices. "All dah time."

He didn't feel the need to lower his voice, because one of them is going to die and the other. . . Floyd knew who this was.

"So where are we going to plant these weapons?" The Reicho demon asks from inside te building.

"In the jail cell section of the police department." Cornelia, the one who Floyd convinced Andrew to join them, coolly said. "When we get in; the destruction demons should be exposed at the files, then, we can get those officers down. . ."

"Why do we want to kill officers?" The Riecho Demon asks.

"Because some-one in there knows I killed that old lady." Cornelia said.

The day where he met her, that was far from the Police Department that let him in (Not the department where the cop that he and Andrew beat up) , is just slowly came back together. She was the one who killed that old lady who owned the house. There was gun powder residue still in the air when he entered the building. Cornelia had made it look like a natural death by applying something. . . That hid the bullet hole.

But it only had been a month, why did he piece this together and believe she was a cold blooded killer?

"No." Floyd enters the room, closing the door behind him.

The Riecho Demon jumps, and then falls back.

"You said he was dead!" The Riecho Demon yells at her.

Cornelia was holding cash in her hands, and the shock in her eyes couldn't be measured.

"He's a ghost," Cornelia's word sounds like disgust. "Just ignore him."

Floyd took out his gun and his badge.

"Ya killed an elderly," Floyd said. "And ya hid dat; I believed ya were an innocent woman. . . Before we ever came; yer an actor. . . Aren't ya?"

"No!" Cornelia denies.

"Don't ya dare lie ta me." Floyd takes out the handcuffs, he threw it to the Riecho demon. "Cuff yer hands." The Riecho Demon takes a step back. "I have a partner who won't give a bullet about ya if ya don't put tose on."

The Riecho-Demon is more than frightened, unable to take the hand cuffs.

"I did not." Cornelia denies, again as she feels for a stake.

Floyd aims the gun at her.

The Riecho Demon picks up a rifle that was a few feet away from them.

"Ya just admitted ta murder." Floyd said in a voice that meant business. There's something missing from his eyes. It's not that easy to tell what is missing. He has complete attention on her. "Do ya know how long ya'll be in prison?"

"I'll never be in prison!" Cornelia protests, as the Riecho Demon is loading the rifle behind soe boxes. "You ar—a-are dead. . . I learned from the best to do what you could _never _do."

". . Shut up." Floyd's attitude towards Cornelia has changed. "Ta ya; I'm dead. Ta dah world; I _never_ died." Floyd tells her. The look on Cornelia's face is horror, not shock. He never said thing like this to friends, but, here he was . . . catching a friend in the act.. "Yer prison sentence. . ."

His hands are shaky.

"For conspiracy to commit murder," Floyd began listing a few. "Attempt to destroy a crime scene, and doing perjury. . . Do ya know how long dat will be?"

She shook her head, stepping back.

"A very, long time." Floyd said. "Now put yer hands up."

The Riecho Demon shot the rifle; one bullet grazes past Floyd's ear and another goes over his shoulder, so both bullets hit the wall. Floyd hid behind a large crate which separates him from Cornelia. There are other men in this building as anyone could hear "Let's go, go, go!" and "Let's ditch this joint, don't care about the cop!"

.So there was a commotion: Stealing.

The Riecho-Demon continues shooting, so Floyd picks up a knife that happened to be there.

"I'll get the thieves!" Chia-Ong shouts from somewhere far off in the building.

There are books on several crates that lose paper as bullets are going through them.

"Looks like we have ta use knife." Floyd stood up (Risking his own life for this) and threw it right at the Riecho-Demon's chest.

Floyd ducks as we can hear some bullets hit the knife that actually lands in the Riecho-Demon's head.

The last shot perpetrated the lights and made it close to impossible for Chia-Ong to come.

**B—Bllaiziiiz-iziizz**

Cornelia crawls towards the door, but Floyd shoots a warning shot.

The electricity falling from the lights in the dark made it slightly scaring seeing Floyd standing there holding his gun.

Floyd shouts at her in Chinese, in all the words he could ever use. He hits a pile of books; they fell on the floor with a loud tumble. Cornelia flinches and gulps feeling scared about him; before this had ever happened, she didn't fear him. But now Cornelia is scared what he could do under the badge. What he could do to her career as a. . .

"Ya tink I'm still dead?" Floyd asks.

"You are dead." Cornelia said, with all the courage she had.

"Ten ya must be a medium," Floyd uses some logic on this. "But dat's aside dah point. We don't always get second chances; sometimes we have ta take dose chances and make a new life with it. . . Ya, on dah other hand of dis, didn't treat it dat way. . . "

He refers to when they first met.

"I can't go back to dah life dat ya and Andrew are doin'." Floyd said. "I've got somethin' ta live for. . . But ya don't; just ambition, dat's all ya have right now."

Cornelia refuses to believe he is alive.

"I've realized doin' what we did isn't right." Floyd concludes his speech. Cornelia is sitting there trying to believe the man who just yelled at her is Floyd. What changed about him is unbelieve-able. "And if I see ya again…"

Floyd clears his throat.

"I won't let ya go scott free." Floyd warns Cornelia. "Now go."

Cornelia gets up and runs out the building.

* * *

**. . .One hour and thirty-three minutes later. . .**

Chia-Ong sulks, sitting on a stair-step.

There were other office getting the building processed and evidence being collected. One can assume that Floyd had made some calls. There were several police car surrounding the building. Chia-Ong had attempted to go after the woman who fled the scene, but, he didn't get her. There are a couple men in the back seat of some police cars. The red, blue, and yellow cop car lights are pretty much light in this dark-like scene.

It had rained earlier that day.

"I…failed." Chai-Ong said in a depressing voice. "Mom must be ashamed of me by now…"

Floyd puts his hand on Chia-Ong's shoulder.

"Chia-Ong," Floyd said. "Yer parents are proud of ya, whether ya catch dah bad guy or not."

Chia-Ong gestures to the direction Cornelia had ran towards.

"But –b-but, this was a woman!" Chia-Ong exclaims, as Floyd takes his hand off.

Floyd laughs.

"Ya should be happy we caught dah burglars." Floyd said.

Chia-Ong shook his head.

"It doesn't seem right." Chia-Ong sighs, rubbing his hands together. "About getting. . ."

"Chia-Ong, sometimes we have ta be satisfied with what we have," Floyd tells him. "And sometimes. . .dat's what keeps us goin'. We did somethin' right today."

Chia-Ong raises his head up.

"What about the Riacho Demon?" Chia-Ong asks. "What did you do with his body?"

". . . I put it somewhere safe." Floyd lied.

_We see the Raicho Demon's body is at the place where the explosive was meant to detonate at; the meeting room. _

"And only one place knows what ta do with dah body." Floyd holds up his index finger.

_We see on the raicho's demon flipped over and his shirt is pulled to show something on his back that read: "Undead doesn't stay dead" and we look up to see Andrew with a few other demons. Andrew did not look happy to see this body or the message. They all didn't know what kind of game is being played, or who is playing the shots to leave a message. _

"Tell me." Chai-Ong said.

Floyd chuckles at his partner's curiosity.

"Its best dat ya don't know." Floyd explains. "It's not yer problem."


End file.
